


One Big Happy Pack Family

by omelet



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Puppies, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:04:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omelet/pseuds/omelet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles should've known that it was only a matter of time before he went to the next level and adopted an honest to god wolf. It's like the slippery slope of dog ownership.</p>
<p>Well, at least he's got a co-parent for his pups.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Co-parenting

**Author's Note:**

> The AU where almost everyone is an actual canine that you never wanted.
> 
> BUT I WANTED IT.
> 
> I DON'T KNOW.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

He never anticipated coming to own so many dogs but he suspects it has something to do with constant exposure to Scott and his perpetual puppy dog eyes, even though he's not even a puppy anymore, and his terrible terrible bleeding heart. One look at a dog and he's gone. Smitten. All logic - I don't have enough space, I don't have the money, hair is getting fucking everywhere - overriden by the desire to coddle the shit out of it and shower it with love and care. 

It was a gradual thing. Neighbors noticed him walking a stray that used to hang around the local convenience store along with Scott. There was a small newspaper article, proudly displayed on the refrigerator by his father, about Stiles rescuing another when he saw it bleeding on the side of the road. Slowly, people would ask him to watch their pets when they go out of town, usually dogs, sometimes cats or birds, but after returning some pets with nasty claw marks on his face, he established himself as a dog person. Eventually, sadly, they would just be left at his doorstep. A small part of Stiles is bitter about how it got to this; he wonders if his actions made people think it was okay to just start abandoning their animals.  
   
Well, at least the town was decent enough to make a donation box for him. As a college student, he definitely doesn't have the income to afford all that dog food and health care. He even has a volunteer, Allison, who he swears was sent by God himself to help him. She has a clear favorite though, Scott, and likewise Scott loves her like no other, not even Stiles, who he's known literally all his life, the traitor, but still, he'll take what he can get.   
   
He has six dogs, all around or below Scott's age, because it's easier for them to get used to a new environment, he thinks. When older dogs come around, he gets them checked out at Deaton's and takes them to the senior center to get adopted. They're less excitable and tend to know how to act around people better than younger dogs. Stiles, perhaps a bit selfishly, doesn't want to keep the older dogs because he doesn't want to even think about having to bury them. So he gives them away, gives some of the younger dogs that come around away too, but he keeps a few of them for himself, the ones that manage to sink their adorable puppy teeth into his heart.

He loves them. They're like his children - he fondly calls them his pups, he doesn't give two shits if that means he's their den mother because he really would do almost anything for them - except they don't make him proud with good grades and exceptional talents but rather just by finally learning where they're supposed to pee or bringing him the newspaper in one piece or being especially adorable that day. To save money on beds, he lets them sleep on his bed in a puppy pile - it's supposed to help build familial bonds or something, at least, that's what Stiles tells himself, he just likes cuddling his puppies -, which is awesome for the winter but not so awesome in the summer. Even his dad, who is the greatest dad on the planet, is more or less on board with the influx of little animals running around the house; he actually tolerates Stiles' inability to turn an animal away from his doorstep and actually takes them on walks once in a while as a part of his exercise. Life's pretty good for Stiles.  
   
Well, until he meets Derek.

-  
   
"You are totally not a dog."

Derek seems to raise an eyebrow - are they even called eyebrows? Are there canine equivalents of eyebrows? They're literally furrier and bushier lines above his eyes where eyebrows would be -, which just trips Stiles out even more, but beyond that, he is still sitting on the Stilinski house doorstep, his bushy tail swishing back and forth. Stiles gulps, looking down at the slightly damp paper the large wolf - Derek - had been holding in his mouth until Stiles very very cautiously took it from him.

MY NAME IS DEREK, I AM NOW IN YOUR CARE, is what the paper said, exactly like that. In all capital letters. Even the handwriting by itself seems aggressive. He tries very hard not to have a panic attack. Over what? The fact that he's not responsible for a wolf or the simple fact that there is a wolf in the first place? He can't decide which one to freak out over.

His dad seems a bit at a loss.

"There aren't any wolves in California," he says, rubbing his chin slowly, half wary and half amazed of the weirdly not hostile wolf.

"Uh, I'm more freaked out by the fact that," he pointedly smacks the paper with the back of his hand, "he has a written note." 

His dad shrugs. "His owner probably wrote it," he reasons very logically, but nope, Stiles is not having any of it.

"Owner? I didn't even know wolves could be domesticated!"  
   
Derek seems to take offense to being referred to as domesticated and _glares_. He _glares_ at Stiles. Stiles is so not on board with taking in an animal that has so far only seemed displeased if not outright offended by his very existence.

"Am I nationally known or something?" Stiles mutters disbelievingly. Derek gives him a look that says yes but Stiles isn't ready to accept that he asked a rhetorical question and a  _wolf_ answered with his face.   
   
Another dog, sure he could deal, but a wolf? How would he act with the others? Would he eat dog food? Will he kill all of them in their sleep? He already did a shit ton of research for dogs. He groans internally because now he has to do another shit ton for wolves.

"You know you don't have to take him in, Stiles," his dad says reasonably. "I'm sure a Ranger can come by-"  
   
Derek interrupts with a growl. They look at him and have a brief staredown. Almost begrudgingly, Derek takes two steps toward Stiles and, to his amazement, licks his hand. Then blinks up at him with his shiny wolfy eyes and lets out a low whine. Wow, this wolf knows how to fight dirty.  
   
"Well," his dad sighs, knowing the look on Stiles' face (completely utterly beaten), "let's see how the kids react."  
   
-  
   
Stiles' head spins with facts about _packs_ and _alphas_ and _canine behavior_ as his dad herds the others to the living room to meet Derek. Stiles has a firm grip on Derek's thick surprisingly soft fur - the thought of his previous owner grooming him makes him chortle - , just in case, though Derek seems to give him another wordy look, this one being of the "are you serious right now" variety.

"A guy's gotta take precautions, alright?" Stiles mutters as the dogs approach, sniffing the air to locate, presumably, the new foreign scent. At first Scott is a little wary, but his natural curiosity - stupidity, Stiles more often than not calls it - wins out and he sniffs at Derek. Derek looks down at him, unimpressed, and nudges his large dangerous-looking paw at Scott's head, pushing him over easily.

"Wow, asshole, play nice," Stiles chides, poking Derek's muzzle with his finger, seeing how he likes it. Derek snaps his teeth at his finger but it's mostly half-hearted. Stiles looks at Scott, who apparently thought that was fun and tries to rile Derek up again. The other dogs join in upon seeing that Scott is still in one piece. Erica, Isaac and Boyd all start jumping around the wolf, trying to get his attention. Lydia briefly sniffs at him and that seems to satisfy her. Even Jackson, the moodiest and snootiest of them all, is curious about the newcomer, though he gets a little overexcited and jumps on him; Derek shakes him off with little to no effort and gives him a stern look. Stiles could almost laugh. 

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a werewolf with the range of emotions you have," Stiles jokes.

Derek gives him a complicated look. Which is quickly replaced with annoyance when all his pups ambush him at once.

-

Seeing as how Derek didn't kill the pups after crawling all over him, Stiles had been pretty sure he'd do alright with the puppy piles.

Except he's totally wrong.

There is a system set in place regarding bedtime. Scott usually curls up next to Stiles' chest, since he's been with Stiles forever. Jackson sleeps against Stiles' back because well, Stiles suspects that Jackson just doesn't like his face, and the inseparable trio piles into a mini-puppy pile at his feet. Lydia sleeps by Jackson, which makes Stiles sad because he loves Lydia, buys her the best toys, grooms her most often, but she just doesn't give him the time of day. 

With the addition of Derek, things get a little confusing. As the dogs get ready to pile up onto the bed and into their respective positions around and on Stiles' body, Derek beats them all to it. A black furry blur ambushes him and before he knows it, Derek is sprawled along the length of his body, his wet nose poking at his neck. The dogs look dumbfounded.

"Derek," Stiles tries to say sternly, but he was never any good at that, "don't be a Stiles hogger."

Derek answers by settling deeper into the bed and closing his eyes. Stiles tries to push at him, but unlike the others, he's way bigger and way stronger than what he's used to and Stiles wants to put off the day Derek bites him for as long as he possibly can. He throws the others an apologetic look.

"C'mon pups," he motions them up on the bed, "we'll make it work."

Erica, Isaac and Boyd still manage to get a spot around Stiles' legs but it seems they've already warmed up to Derek because they're also curled up around his bushy tail which in turn is curled around, embarrassingly, the curve of his ass. Lydia already staked out of the corner against the wall and headboard. However, Jackson and Scott are a bit out of luck. Derek takes up half the bed and Stiles is practically pushed up against the wall. Jackson gets around that by settling up against the headboard, his belly warming up Stiles' head. Stiles is okay with this. It gets breezy up there, especially after haircuts. Scott, however, is looking sad and dejected.

"You can go here, buddy." He sets Scott on his shoulder before nudging Derek again, only just enough so that there is a small pocket of space between the two of them. He deposits Scott there, where Scott promptly wiggles around until Derek is annoyed enough to relent another inch of space. Stiles sighs, feeling more tired than usual and way warmer than usual. Derek sleeps strangely; half his body is sprawled across Stiles'. That'll take a while to get used to. Stiles just settles into his pillow, already learning to ignore Derek's larger head that is tucked under his chin.

Stiles breathes deeply, catching a whiff of Derek. Derek smells like nature, like the smell of the forest surrounding Beacon Hills and a hint of aftershave, sharp and spicy. Perhaps his former owner was a recluse who lived in the forest. Maybe one of Allison's relatives, one of the few that isn't crazy and homicidal. They must have loved Derek a lot, he thinks drowsily, he's got human smells rubbed all over him.

"Good night," he mumbles almost as an afterthought, half-asleep. Derek growls - mumbles?- quietly. Scott lets out a what can only be described as a yowl in response. Stiles falls asleep laughing.

-

Stiles had managed to convince his dad to let him take a day from school before he went to bed the night before so he can get to know Derek because there is no way in hell he is going to leave a wolf alone with his pups without a bit more acquainting and evaluation.  
   
The acquainting starts that morning when Stiles wakes up and finds that Derek is still snoozing away. He can hear the others bustling around the house and yapping about outside through his open window; they're hyperactive that way. Yawning loudly, he elbows at the sleeping wolf and hopes that last night wasn't just a fluke.  
   
"Get up sleepyhead," he says, sitting up to stretch before grabbing the lint roller on his bedside table. "You and me, we're gonna get to know each other."   
   
Derek stirs and blinks as Stiles swipes off the excess hair on his blankets. Stiles has long accepted that his bed will never be dog-wolf-canine hair free but even he can't deal with sleeping in clumps of animal hair. Derek watches him for a bit as he runs the roller the sheets and the pillows before getting up and stretching, his back arching deep and his jaw opening wide as he yawns, his sharp deadly-looking teeth glinting. Derek looks affronted when Stiles swats at his muzzle and interrupts his yawn. Stiles just glares back.

"You're the one yawning into people's faces with your smelly wolf breath." 

He lets out a very manly eep when Derek kicks his covers at him as he jumps off the bed. Quickly recovering, he clambers downstairs. The pups are gathering around Derek, yelping happily as he takes a few drinks from his temporary water bowl. 

Derek lets out a low curt bark and the pups scamper off. Stiles stares, open-mouthed.

"What was that?" Stiles demands as he stomps over to Derek. "Just like that, they listen to you?"

Derek raises an eyebrow - he does, Stiles swears that he has eyebrows and he uses them on purpose - as if to say "of course dumbass". 

Stiles sits cross-legged in front of Derek. "Well, this is my house, so it's my rules, alright?" Stiles bumps his hand against Derek's chest and he swears the wolf does a double take at the offensive appendage. Well, he isn't having any of it. Derek looks like the mutinous type and Stiles does not want him to influence the pups into starting some adorable coup. _Bacon all day every day_ , they would somehow communicate to him, probably through Derek's eyebrows. His father would probably even join them with that platform alone. Derek stares at him and he guesses that means he's supposed to continue. "Now, we're going to see if you're trained and then we'll go from there."

Derek cocks his head, not in confusion but almost in amusement.  
   
Stiles glares. "Paw," he says, holding out his hand. Derek pointedly looks down at his hand then back up at him. Stiles shakes his hand again. Derek rolls his eyes. 

"I will throw your wolfy ass out if you keep giving me that attitude," he threatens, pointing a finger at Derek. "Don't think I won't!"

Of course, Derek knows he won't, he says as much with the look on his face but he seems to let out a sigh, sounding more like a sneeze but whatever, before he puts his paw on Stiles' hand.

"Alright, now we're getting somewhere," Stiles mutters as he stands. "Up."

Derek obeys. Stiles hums, impressed and already slightly drunk on the apparent power he has over the cheeky animal. 

"Sit."

He sits.

"Stay." Stiles walks out the front door, rounds the house and goes back in through the back door. Derek is still seated in the same spot, though Erica is pushing at his legs trying to get him to play with them. He looks like he wants to push her over like he did with Scott but beyond turning to look down at her with disdain, he doesn't move.

"Alright, good b - no?" Stiles begins to coo reflexively but puts his hands up in surrender when Derek throws him a particularly nasty glare, "alright I'll stick with your name!" He shoos Erica away. 

They go over some more exercises; Stiles does some tests with treats, noting that Derek has excellent self-control, seemingly understanding every command Stiles issues. It's pretty amazing actually. 

"Alright," Stiles brushes the crumbs of the biscuit off his jeans, "last one." Derek looks up at him, chewing contently on his treat. 

"Roll over," he commands. 

Derek stops chewing. He actually stops moving. What he does do, however, is glare and that last glare with the "good boy" thing is nothing compared to the one he's giving Stiles now. He feels his soul shrivel back.

"N-no to that either?" Stiles asks weakly. Derek answers by getting up and walking away. "Ooookay."

All in all, that went pretty well, Stiles thinks to himself optimistically as he watches Derek start sniffing things around the house.

His eyes follow Derek when he goes outside and approaches one of the bushes. Oh good, he's trained. Then, Derek turns to look at Stiles, stares for the longest time while shifting back and forth on his legs and it's a ridiculous notion but Stiles thinks that Derek is self-conscious about peeing.

He turns away anyway, out of courtesy for Derek but mostly so he won't see him trying to muffle his giggling.

-

Amazingly, beyond needing to buy more food and another set of shots - Deaton, bless the man, just gave Stiles an odd look before taking Derek to the back for his shots-, Derek isn't much trouble. He seems fine with dog food, though Stiles decided to get actual meat for him because the idea of a wolf eating dry dog food just seems unnatural and a bit mean. He wants Derek to feel more or less comfortable and so he and his dad build a higher fence in the backyard so that he'll have more freedom to run around without worrying the neighbors that he'll jump the fence. Stiles jokes, sitting next to Derek, that maybe they should build a little privy for Derek to use.

Derek promptly uses his face as a step to climb up and off the couch.

With news of a domesticated wolf joining the neighborhood, donations have increased, along with some notes telling Stiles to "make sure to shackle up the animal or "let it go, it's unethical" or "you should charge fees to let people pet it", which he promptly ignores, and a few that offer at least decent advice and well wishes. The money is enough to buy food for at least a few months. Stiles' dad is starting to wonder if he needs to write these up in his taxes.

Almost seamlessly, Derek works himself into the family. The pups listen to him, probably because he's bigger, though Stiles hypothesizes, after observing him with the pups, that Derek is an alpha wolf and so naturally they listen to him. 

Doesn't explain why Derek doesn't have a pack or how his previous owner managed to train an honest to god alpha but there are only so many questions Google can answer.

"Derek doesn't like me very much." Allison tells Stiles as they sit on the living room floor, a week or so after Derek got himself adopted. This statement makes very little sense because as far as Stiles knows, Allison is pretty much a Disney princess when it comes to animals. 

"It must be the Argent in your name," Stiles jokes. He mentally crosses off "reclusive Argent rebel woodsman" on his list of "potential former Derek owners". Derek probably would've warmed up to her if that had been the case, what with all the deals with scents and whatever. 

In fact, Stiles suspects that Derek actually does hold a grudge against the Argents; every time Allison's dad comes by to pick her up, Derek sits by the window, his muzzle pressed up against the glass as he stares intensely at the black SUV pulling away for the curb. He should really get him to stop that because Isaac's taken to imitating his behavior and he doesn't want Mr. Argent to freak out when he sees all the dogs staring threateningly at him from the window. But weirdly enough, Mr. Argent gives Derek an equally scathing look when they do make eye contact and sometimes Stiles actually puts his hand on Derek's head as he bids the Argents goodbye (he knows that it calms Derek down, his annoyed stares aren't particularly convincing when Stiles is petting him). All this hostility might cause Mr. Argent to forbid Allison from helping out and he doesn't even want to think about what would happen if she stopped coming around. Just, absolute chaos.

Allision gives him a look. "Seriously Stiles?"  
   
"No, okay, look," Stiles turns to Derek, who is, for lack of a better word, supervising the others as they play in the living room, letting out a sharp bark every time Jackson starts swatting at Scott, "hey Sourwolf!"

Derek's ears perk up and he begins to turn but stops himself at the last second before returning his attention to the dogs.

"Sourwolf!"

He is flat-out ignored. 

Stiles pauses to give Allison a pointed look before shouting, "Derek!"

Derek slowly turns his head and gives Stiles a smoldering glare, along with some bared teeth. 

Stiles gestures at him and looks at Allison. "See? Look at that! Look at that attitude!"

Allison lets out a laugh, the equivalent of the most appealing toy on the face of the earth to Scott, and so naturally, Scott bounds toward her and starts licking her face. Stiles is thankful that he hasn't seen Scott start humping Allison. He does not want to see that, ever.

When he turns to look at what the others are doing, he nearly jumps a foot when he sees Derek looming over him. However, his attention is not on Stiles, but rather on Allison and Scott. Allison looks a bit afraid while Scott, occupied with loving Allison, just continues to cuddle with her. Stiles briefly wonders if he should do something but Derek has shown no signs of outright hostility and he can't help but admit that he's morbidly curious what's going to happen. Plus, worst case scenario, Allison can fend Derek off with the knife Stiles knows she has concealed in her boot. He has yet to figure out why she keeps one there; he imagines it's for self-defense but it's a seriously hardcore knife, like, not a beginner's kind of knife.

Slowly, Derek pads over to Allison, gives her a hard stare, not forgetting to give one to Stiles either, and promptly grabs Scott out of her lap by the scruff of his neck like he's a puppy. In the back of his mind, Stiles is screaming _no Scott, don't let him dominate you_ , but he is too busy gaping as Derek returns to the middle of the room, drops Scott on the ground and stares at him. They have some sort of weird telepathic conversation before Scott, the stupid dog, _rolls over_. Stiles' heart is breaking. It's like he's losing Scott to Derek, like he's the new cool fatherly figure of his life who teaches him how to do manly things and pick up girls. Just what.

Derek then nudges Scott with his nose toward the others and plops down into his original position, taking a break in his supervision to throw a smug look in their direction. Stiles just gapes and Allison tries really hard not to laugh.

"It's like he's trying to protect Scott's virtue or something," Allison giggles. "Looks like he really is into the whole Alpha thing you were talking about."

Stiles glares at Derek. Later that night, he challenges Derek to a fight, shouting "I'll show you who's the Alpha!" His father, coming home from a double-shift at the station, finds Stiles sprawled on the ground with Derek sitting on his back, looking rather amused, and the dogs alternating between pushing at Derek or whimpering sadly at Stiles. Or, in Jackson's case, just chewing on his shoe. Scott yaps at Derek, occasionally head-butting him, and resolutely gets back up every time Derek pushes him over. Stiles reminds himself to give Scott an extra treat for the next week for his efforts. His dad just looks at them as Stiles pleads for help. He even snaps a picture for posterity's sake. 

"You should've known what you were getting yourself into," his dad says matter-of-factly as he goes up the stairs. Derek gets off when Stiles finally admits temporary defeat.

"I'll get back at you for this," Stiles grumbles, rubbing his back. Derek gives him a look that clearly says that he won't.

However, he does start giving Scott a little more space when it's time for bed and Stiles has a mini-freakout when he realizes that he's co-parenting with a wolf. Seemingly detecting his anxiety, Derek throws his paw at Stiles' face and only puts it down when he finally calms down and goes to sleep.

-

"Hey Danny," Stiles greets as he steps aside, holding open the front door.

"Stiles," Danny returns pleasantly. "Didn't see you at lacrosse practice today."

Stiles shuts the door. "Yeah, I've got a lot on my plate, y'know."   
   
Danny nods understandingly. "Mmm yeah, heard about your wolf," he goes to sit down in the living room, "that's bizarre stuff."  
   
Tell me about it, Stiles thinks as he imagines Derek's grumpy face. He sticks his head down the hall. "Jackson! Danny's he-," Jackson races past him, already barking and leaping on Danny, "right then."  
   
"Hey Jackson," Danny coos, scratching Jackson's belly as Jackson gleefully rolls around, "how you been, buddy?"

"Oh you know, I'm well fed and well groomed and well taken-care of but I'm mean to Stiles as always because I can," Stiles sneers in what he thinks would be Jackson's voice if he could talk. Danny laughs.  
   
"Stiles-," he begins but Stiles stops him  
   
"You don't have to thank me every time you come around to visit," Stiles says, "despite all I say about Jackson, I wouldn't give him up even if someone gave me a million dollars."  
   
Danny smiles like a weight's been lifted on his shoulders. Stiles likes him, admires the way he cares for Jackson and the way that everyone likes him. He's like a Disney prince. Allison and Danny could probably take over the world together.  
   
Stiles bustles around the kitchen, occasionally chatting with Danny about school and watching him play with Jackson in between preparing dinner. He hears light thumps and the telltale clicks of Derek's claws as he pads down the hall. Derek stops at the entrance of the living room, looking at Danny.  
   
"Derek," Stiles says tentatively from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a cloth, debating on whether or not he should be making his way toward the wolf, "this is Danny, Jackson's friend."  
   
Derek looks at Stiles and Stiles tries to arrange his face in an imitation of Derek's stern look. Apparently, it's unimpressive, judging by the way Derek lowers his eyelids and then promptly turns his attention back to Danny. Danny, meanwhile, is looking at Derek, blinking slowly. He holds out a hand.  
   
"Nice to meet you, Derek," Danny says very politely as if he's talking to the parent of a boyfriend, "I hear that you're the alpha."  
   
"For now," Stiles grumbles. He swears Derek's chest puffs up a bit as he sizes Danny up.  
   
"You do a good job," he continues. "Jackson can be a handful and I hear that he doesn't chew on Scott anymore."  
   
It took a lot of swatting on Derek's part to rid Jackson of that habit. Derek pads over to Danny and lays his paw briefly on his hand before sniffing. He looks at Jackson, who just looks at him expectantly, and lets out a low begrudging bark. Which is apparently Jackson's cue to start jumping and slobbering all over Danny. Derek shoots them one more look before leaving.  
   
Stiles grins as Derek's tail disappears down the hall. "I think you got his approval."  
   
"Great," Danny says wryly as Jackson licks his face, "good to know the parents are okay with me and Jackson."

-

The pups, and Derek, they're practically his best friends. Stiles isn't unpopular really; after all, he's a little famous for all his animal friends and he's kinda friends with Danny and by that association, he seems more approachable despite being a little eccentric.

Maybe it's because his mom was really into the whole nature thing, but he just gets along better with his canines than with people.

Derek becomes one of his best friends. Sure, Stiles has had Scott the longest and Scott will always be his best friend, the most fun and the cutest and his favorite, but Derek is like a person. He's weirdly perceptive of Stiles' emotions; when Stiles is in a bad mood, the pups are always quiet or at least confined to a small area, with Derek constantly herding them and growling quietly at them if they misbehave. Derek practically takes care of himself, only nudging at Stiles when he needs something that requires opposable thumbs. Which is not to say that he's antisocial because when he's not watching or playing with the pups, he's always around, curled up on the couch when Stiles is watching television or on the floor of his bedroom when he's doing homework. He hardly ever makes trouble, always taking care to stay hidden during the rare occasions when they have visitors.

Derek gets jealous though. It's actually kinda funny. Like when Stiles grooms Lydia, showering her with praise as he tends to do, Derek sits by him and stares at Lydia, looking particularly contrary. Then the moment Lydia hops out of his lap, Derek slides into Stiles' lap and doesn't budge until Stiles gives in and runs his fingers through his fur, scratching his ears.

Stiles talks to Derek most, mostly because he's the only one who sits still long enough for Stiles to ramble at him. And he actually looks attentive. Stiles complains about everything, about school, about the fact that he's probably going to be forever alone, which Derek growls at because he's the best. The amount of stuff he shares with Derek is actually embarrassing. Let's not even talk about the times Stiles had held him for hours, or those rare occasions when he had a panic attack and buried his face in his fur, usually on particularly bad days like the anniversary of his mom's death. The pups usually cuddle up around him on those days and even Jackson huddles closer which is so endearing that it actually makes Stiles cry but the fact that Derek doesn't leave his side for a second makes it just that much better. There's something oddly soothing about hearing Derek howl on those days.

"Only you understand me, sourwolf," Stiles mutters, petting his head.

Derek just rumbles in reply.

-

One day, he comes home to see all the pups at the door, whimpering, with Derek nowhere to be seen.

Stiles is freaking out. Still freaking out, he calls Allison, updates her on the situation and makes her promise she won't tell her father. He does not want a family of experienced hunters to know that a wolf is out on the streets.  
   
Without even needing to be asked, his dad offers to get a search dog from the department but Stiles shakes his head. He's afraid to get anyone other than their family - him, his dad, Allison, the dogs - involved because Derek's a wolf and people were already wary of a wolf who wasn't chained up and muzzled living in the neighborhood and they just wouldn't understand.   
   
"He'll probably be in the woods." Stiles reasons. "Natural habitat right? He wouldn't just waltz into the nearest convenience store or anything."  
   
He and his dad are trying to calm the dogs. Derek's become a part of their little family and they're no longer used to him not being around. Even Jackson looks downtrodden and that's just not okay.   
   
"Don't worry guys," he says softly, wrapping his arms around them as they sniffle up against him, "I'll go find him and everything will be alright." Scott whimpers, his eyes almost begging Stiles not to go.  
   
He grabs his keys, a flashlight and his phone and promises that he'll call every half-hour before he sets off into Beacon Hills Preserve, the moon full and round above him.

\-    
   
   
"Derek!" Stiles yells into the quiet forest, his breath bright white in the darkness. "Sourwolf!"

Nothing.

Stiles stops to catch his breath as he feels his asthma kick in a bit. He leans against a tree, the bark scratching the back of his head.  
   
"Everyone's worried about you!" He shouts. "Scott mopes around the house, Erica, Isaac and Boyd just huddle together in a corner and ignore everyone, even Lydia's looking like she cares!"  
   
All he hears are the leaves rustling. 

"I need you to hit Jackson when he's being a dick because if I do it, it's animal abuse!"

He swears as he pushes off the tree to continue deeper into the woods. Shining his flashlight forward, he sees a burnt-out house. The old Hale house.

Hale. His mind races back. The file he once saw his dad rifling through, years ago. Three survivors. Peter, Laura and -  
   
A howl. He snaps out of his reverie, focusing on the task at hand. It came from the house.  
   
"Derek?" He calls tentatively, his heart pounding. 

He hears the dull thud of footsteps and the old house creaking. Quickly rounding around the house, he sees a shadow on the porch. A human-shaped shadow.

Slowly, his hands shaking, he raises his flashlight to the figure. A dark-haired man in a black leather on grey ensemble steps out the front door. He's scowling, though Stiles isn't sure if it's because a flashlight is being flashed in his face or if it's like a permanent thing. He has a feeling it's the latter as he finds himself staring at the man's downturned eyebrows. Stiles wonders briefly, can eyebrows be aggressive?, as his mind tries to sort itself out.

"This is private property," the man says, his voice not as low as he had expected. Expected? Why does he already have expectations about this guy? Stiles feels his head shake back and forth, denying everything before he even knows what he's denying.

The man raises an eyebrow and it is in that moment when Stiles knows. He would know that look anywhere.

He lets out a nervous laugh. Suddenly, all his werewolf jokes don't seem so funny anymore.

-

"Derek?" He repeats, half ready to admit he's crazy. 

The man - Derek, also known as  _Derek Hale_ , he knows it's him - glares at him. Yeah, nope, this is definitely Sourwolf. "Get out," is all he says, his eyebrows clashing as he, presumably, tries to ward Stiles off with his face. With his very attractive face, Stiles notes amidst the whirlwind of thoughts going through his head, with nice cheekbones and stubble and what, like did he really think he could scare him off with that face.   
   
"Don't pull that shit with me!" Stiles practically shouts, trying desperately to simultaneously throw his arms out wildly and jab his flashlight aggressively in Derek's direction. "I know all your stupid glares! I know you're Derek, the wolf! With you and your," he gestures at his face, "eyebrows and the glaring and all the dark colors, like seriously man? You're not fooling anyone."  
   
Derek crosses his arms over his - whoa - buff chest and tries to intimidate Stiles away. 

And because he doesn't know any better, Stiles starts doing what he does best, run his mouth. "You know that won't work on me!" He grabs at his short hair, trying to deal with the fact that he's been _cuddling with a werewolf_ and the fact that the pups miss this unfairly attractive model-like man _who he's been cuddling with_ and _he has to get him back_. "I can't just tell the pups that their wolfy father isn't coming home! They haven't dealt with losing family before! I mean, I have but I-I can't speak dog and you can, so at least you can talk to them when I can't and you always looked like you understood me and well, now I know that you did and so I guess that all worked out, but you're," he takes in a deep breath, half-hysterical, "like their alpha or whatever, I don't know, weird pack dynamics and shit and you can't just leave me with this and expect us all to be okay -"

"Stiles."

He probably could have stopped there, seeing as how this human Derek, who Stiles is pretty sure he has only spoken to about twice and with less then ten words (all of which were probably variations of apologies or meeps) prior to now, knows his name but he can't stop, "-and Dad's going to be in _so_ much shit when word gets out that you ran away because everyone's going to want to make sure you're either found or gone for good and if it's the latter, he'll be torn between doing his job and making me and the pups happy and then Allison's family will get involved because some of them are crazy and itching to kill something since they killed like half the deer population -

"Stiles!"

"-how are we going to sleep? Derek, do you think they sell giant wolf plushies at _Toys-R-Us_? The pups won't be able to deal with a giant empty space now and they'll just sniffle and cry all night oh god I'm not going to be sleeping for nights, you know I'm a sympathetic crier?" He also feels like crying right now, feels like he actually is crying, but it's more of a hysteria-induced crying than a sadness-induced crying. "I mean, you've seen me watching I Am Legend, that was not even close to how bad it gets. When I got Jackson, he would just cry all the time because his stupid fucking owners didn't want him anymore and all I could do was cry with him and it felt extremely unmanly but very cathartic and even after all that, he still hates me -"  
   
"Stiles," and wow when did Derek get so close, "breathe."

Stiles realizes that one, Derek's super warm hands are on his face, two, he looks really fucking distressed, like his freakout is freaking him out, and three, he's on the verge of a panic attack. So he listens to Derek and breathes.

"Jackson doesn't hate you."

Taking in deep breaths like a woman in labor, Stiles looks up at Derek who has dropped his hands and is now shuffling awkwardly in front of him. "What?"

"Jackson doesn't hate you," Derek says quietly. "He's just not good at," he sighs, finally accepting that the gig is up, "expressing his emotions."

It is silent, save for Stiles' heaving breaths.  
   
"Oh my god," Stiles says, his voice quiet and full of awe, "you're Derek."  
   
Derek rolls his eyes, looking exactly like wolf-Derek, who is this Derek and - nevermind. "I thought you had already established this."

"No I just - what -," Stiles' brain is slowly starting to short circuit and so he holds up a hand, "I need a minute."

"Werewolves exist," Derek states bluntly, "I really am the Alpha, the Argents are hunters, not the kind you think, but werewolf hunters and," he interrupts Stiles before he can speak, "I'll admit that Allison is not insane like some of the people in her family."

Stiles looks up at the full moon. "So," he tries to collect his thoughts, "this whole moon thing is true?"  
   
Derek looks...confused, which is something Stiles has never seen, but at least it's helping him reconcile with the fact that his wolf co-parent is actually partially human. "I should be crazed with bloodlust by now."  
   
Whoa what. Stiles takes a step back. "Oh god, this wasn't a part of your plan to kill and eat me, is it? Because that's some meticulous planning for a meal that isn't going to be very satisfying, I mean, I play lacrosse but warming up the bench doesn't really help with building muscle, you've seen me - oh my god," his voice shoots up at least ten octaves, "you've seen me naked, you're a total creeper wolf!" 

"Stiles," he looks exasperated, which is a very common look he gets from Derek, "shut up."

Stiles pinches his lips together and obeys. Derek sighs.  
   
"A werewolf is more susceptible to their animal instincts during the full moon," he explains, flexing his fingers, "I'm a new Alpha and before I met you, I had no pack."

"What about," Derek looks at him and Stiles tries not to look away from his piercing gaze, "Laura?" He asks, having drawn up the memory of the Hale fire. "Or your uncle?"  
   
Derek's eyes flash with anger and for a brief moment, Stiles feels fear, real heart-stopping fear, because Derek isn't just an unusually domesticated wolf now, but rather a man, a werewolf, who had lost his family to a nutcase and god knows what issues he had buried.   
   
But, Stiles breathes as he tries to calm his rapid heartbeat, it's still Derek, who watches the pups like they're his own. He steels himself, fighting the fear away, and it seems to calm Derek too.  
   
"Gone," Derek answers quietly. Stiles doesn't push him for any clarification.

"So you ran because you were alone and didn't know what was going to happen."

Derek nods tightly.

Stiles looks around. No sign of any dead animals. "So, how'd it go?" He backtracks. "Wait, were you planning on coming back?"

Derek steps off the porch, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and kicking at some old charred bits of wood. "Nothing happened and I don't know."

Stiles stares at him. "'I don't know'? What are we to you, chopped liver? And nothing happened? I just trekked through like miles of the woods, on the verge of an asthma attack -," he throws his arms up and turns away, "I am so confused." 

"One way to control the wolf is to find an anchor," he hears Derek say softly behind him. "Something to remind me of my humanity so I can control the transformation. When I became the Alpha, I knew that at the very least, I needed a pack."  
   
Stiles turns. "So you went to the local house for dogs," he mutters. "Pretty smart. Your terrible personality is hidden under all that fur and puppy dog eyes."

Derek lets out a laugh. "Your bleeding heart is infamous," he teases. Stiles glares half-heartedly.

"So you got a pack," Stiles gestures vaguely in the direction of what he assumes is his house, "and you were thinking of leaving?"  
   
Derek doesn't say anything. Realization dawns on him.  
   
"Oh," Stiles says, "you didn't want to end up hurting any of them."

Derek glares, like he's offended that Stiles assumed he actually liked any of them. Stiles just grins cheekily.  
   
"You're just a big fluffy puppy, aren't you?"  
   
Derek looks off toward the woods, sheepish. "You're my anchor."

Stiles freezes and adamantly ignores the fact that his heart jumps when he hears those words. "What." 

Derek realizes what he said and quickly shakes his head. "I mean," he mimics Stiles, gesturing vaguely toward his house, "the pack, you and the pups." Stiles wants to cry, Derek just called them the pups and it's like they're a big happy family - with Stiles and Derek as the parents of said family but he schedules that freakout for another time. "I remembered them and their stupid antics and trying to keep them out of trouble when you're at school and it just didn't happen. I stayed human."

Several seconds pass before Stiles feels his legs weaken. He lands softly on the ground, probably because of the hand wrapped around his wrist, and when he looks up, Derek's right there, kneeling in front of him, his stupidly attractive face right there. "Oh my god," is all he can say. In the midst of dealing with the fact that wolf Derek is in fact not fully a wolf, Stiles had refused to deal with the additional fact that human Derek is built like some Greek god; despite the fact that the word "attractive" is pretty much synonymous with every one of his features, it hasn't really sunk in. Plus, there's the deal with the fact that he has told him literally everything about anything ever and also that deeply buried thought that Derek would be a perfect boyfriend if he were human and _hah_. Yeah no, he's not ready to deal with this.

"I know it's a lot to take in," Derek says understandingly. It takes Stiles a moment to realize that he's not talking arrogantly about the general attractiveness of his being. "You didn't deserve to have all this thrown on you, neither did the pups."

"No no, I just-," he runs a hand through his short hair. "How am I going to tell my dad about all this?" He looks at Derek, briefly noting that his eyes are hazel and that jesus, Derek is just, really hot. "Oh god, how are we all going to sleep together now?"

Derek just laughs, laughs even harder when Stiles shouts, "Derek, why are you laughing, I'm being serious!"

-

His dad stares at Derek, who tries hard not to wilt under the stern gaze. "Was this all a plan to get to my son? I have to know because my son's a minor and you're still nearly a 25 year old human."

Derek gives Stiles a hard look. Stiles holds his hands up. "Hey, I thought you were going to eat me, paranoia probably runs in the family - I mean," he looks at his dad, who looks pained, and flushes, "not that kind of eating oh god."

"I had no untoward ulterior motives," Derek answers, his gaze lingering on Stiles before returning to his father. He explains everything to him, the whole deal with the pack and the full moon, and even transforms into a wolf as proof that no he does not take him for an idiot.

"I need a drink," his dad mutters as Derek readjusts his clothes. Stiles can hear the yapping of the pups upstairs; his dad put in the safety fence to make sure they didn't end up running out to look for either of them. His dad waves his hand, giving Stiles permission to open it up, since, well everyone's home, safe and sound.

The thundering of six pairs of paws down the stairs is followed by a series of barks and yelps as they pounce on Derek, pushing him to the ground. Sniffing him wildly, the pups look adorably confused that this human smells like their wolf dad. Derek just sits up and pets them, probably having another one of those weird telepathic conversations. For a second, Stiles swears he sees Derek's eyes flash red and before he knows it, the pups are fighting to climb on top of him and slobber all over him as they whimper and wiggle all over him.

"Well, I guess the verdict's in," his dad says as he returns to the living room nursing a glass of whiskey, "I haven't seen the dogs warm up to a stranger that fast before."

Stiles lets out a breath, trudges over to the living room, and falls down on the sofa, rubbing his eyes. What a day. He can hardly get a moment of rest before the pups start climbing up on him too, licking at his face. "Yeah, you better be grateful, I went out and dragged your deadbeat father back home," he muttered, gathering them up in his arms, a big ball of warm soft fur.

"They would've been alright," he hears Derek say as he sits down on the sofa beside him. "They've got a great mother after all."

"I resent that," Stiles grouches tiredly as Derek settles beside him, their shoulders touching. 

He doesn't really.

-

Derek only shifts now at night when it's bedtime, mostly because the bed's not big enough and also because well, there's the whole deal with Stiles being a minor and Derek not being a minor and his dad only allows puppy piles to continue because the pups kept them up all night with their poor attempts at howling for their wolf father, as well as the fact that Stiles is freaked out that he finds his male former pet wolf co-parent attractive.

As far as the neighborhood knows, Stiles, tearfully and out of the goodness of his heart, let Derek, the wolf, go to a wolf sanctuary to be with his kind. Just as that happened, Derek Hale just moved back from New York and is rooming with the Stilinskis. Weirdly enough, no one really brings up the odd coincidence of names. Stiles thinks they're too busy talking about how handsome Derek Hale has grown up to be since he was just a teenager. For the first few weeks, he opens the door to the bachelorettes, even some of the bachelors, of Beacon Hills, bearing gifts for the prodigal son, usually baked goods, since that's the typical welcome to the neighborhood gift.

"I wish they would stop putting chocolate in these," Stiles mumbles through a mouthful of chocolate chip cookies as he pushes Scott away from the plate. He feels like he's gained at least five pounds from trying to go through these things. Derek just snorts and tosses a good half of the cookies into an animal-proof trash can.

Derek gets a job at the mechanic's since it turns out that he had inherited a totally sweet Camaro and knows a thing or two about cars. He doesn't really need the money; he has enough from the insurance claims. But since he's living with them, he feels like he should contribute some income and Stiles' dad refuses anything he perceives as handouts, but he'll begrudgingly take it as room and board. Stiles knows that Derek inflates it a bit and he's grateful; his dad doesn't have to take so many consecutive shifts just to get more overtime and it's definitely helping with the stress. Stiles, on the other hand, is completely fine with Derek being the breadwinner of the family, mostly because now he can get a discount for his Jeep, which is in desperate need of fixing. 

"What makes you think I'll give you a discount?" Derek says with a raised eyebrow as he pops the Jeep's hood and takes a look.

"Because we're practically married, that's why," Stiles says flippantly as he glances through a magazine. 

He hears a sudden thunk and smiles to himself.  
   
-  
   
The big freakout comes way later than he thought and kind of unexpectedly because he did a very good job of just ignoring it until it was, well, right in front of him. That tends to be how he operates, he notices. Ignoring things until they are literally all up in his business.  
   
Stiles had come home after a particularly tiring day; amazingly Coach Finstock let him actually play lacrosse that day and he was sore and beat, so he immediately set off toward his bed and knocked out.  
   
An hour or so later, he woke up, sweating, which was weird because it was late November, to the smell of motor oil and aftershave. Oh god. He looked down to see Derek, fully human, right in front of him as he laid in bed. Not just in front of him, but cuddled up against him.

Asleep.

Stiles tried to wiggle backwards, but he felt something tighten around his waist. Oh god, he silently muttered again as he looked down to see Derek's arm wrapped around him. His gaze fell upon Derek's body, which he soon learned was extremely muscular and clad only in a wifebeater and jeans. He felt Derek's bare foot rub against his bare ankle and shivered. 

"Derek," he squeaked. Derek's response was to rub his face into the crook of his neck. Stiles decided that yeah okay he had a thing for stubble now. Danny would now forever be unattractive to him. "Derek," he tried again, amazed that his dick is listening to the broadcast of DO NOT POP A BONER RIGHT NOW coming from his brain for once in his life.

"Mmph."  
   
Stiles breathed deeply, thanking the heavens that today was not one of Derek's sleep like the dead days. "You're uh, kinda...we're kinda in a," he gulped, "compromising position."

He felt Derek's grip loosen as he pulled back, blinking blearily. Derek looked at their position and looked, well, nothing really changed in his face. "Sorry," he mumbled, not looking very sorry at all. "The pups took over the couch."  
   
"Uh, yeah, no," Stiles cleared his throat, "problem, it's all good, everything's just hunky-dory, peachy-," Derek gave him a look, "yeah I'll shut up now."

"Do you mind?" Derek asked, still clearly tired. "If it really bothers you, I'll just -"  
   
"It's fine," Stiles answered quickly, mentally smacking himself when he remembers no he was totally not okay with this. His penis apparently temporarily took control of his brain, its previous compliance was clearly a part of its master plan. "I was just um surprised, is all."

And that was that. Derek dropped his head back on Stiles' collarbone and Stiles spent the next hour thinking of the pups and cold showers.  
   
Later that night, he frantically googled WHAT DO YOU DO IF YOU'RE ATTRACTED TO A WEREWOLF and unsurprisingly found nothing useful besides a whole new category of porn.

And here he is now. Apparently, he's got a thing for his werewolf co-parent.

Great.


	2. Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles deals with his newfound attraction, the pups, and Mr. Argent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd, as always.

This is some whole new territory in terms of his love life because he doesn't have crushes on people. He has crushes on people's smiles, the way they order people around, their quiet kindness, their unique humor. It's unrealistic and impractical, which is why they rarely last long. 

So, he had thought, as he took full advantage of the fact that the living room couch is the prime viewing area for Derek's daily workouts, that maybe he just liked to objectify the guy. Besides, that attractiveness must be covering up a glaring character flaw, right? But Stiles has been living with broody, moody, werewolf Derek for the past four months, has been exposed to his habits and penchant for sass and general judgemental and annoyed attitude toward everything and, for some reason, Derek is never an asshole where it counts. Stiles has told Derek things, private, embarrassing things, that he has never told any human being ever, has scratched his belly and let him lick his face. They've _bonded_. They take care of the pups and sleep together, for god's sake. At this point, he _wants_ to not like Derek, wants to stop finding things about him that make him go "I want to do dirty things with you and also make you breakfast forever", because his life is so _weird_ and having a crush on a man who sleeps with him as a wolf is making him feel super conflicted with himself, but it's like for every dickish thing Derek does, he does ten other endearing things.

_Is this how it begins?_ Stiles thinks, half-crazed. _Is this how single parents fall in love with their nannies?_

"That's not how you usually make meatballs," Derek remarks from the kitchen table.

Stiles stops his train of thought, slightly out of breath, and looks down at his mixing bowl. There is a tiny dollop of ground beef at the bottom of it; the rest of it is splattered all around the kitchen counter. Well, at least that explains why his arm is so tired. "Don't question my process, Derek," he snipes, scooping the scattered beef back into the bowl. "Extreme mixing is what makes it hardcore enough for my pups."

His phone rings as he makes a face at Derek's unimpressed one. Grabbing it, he quickly wedges it between his ear and shoulder before moving to scrape a bit of meat off the side of his refrigerator. Five second rule, he cites. Good enough for him, good enough for the pups. "Hello?"

"Hey Stiles." Allison's voice is quiet. Stiles pokes at his volume button a few times before reaching for the spice rack.

"Oh hey, Allison, I was just about to call you! Mrs. Willis' sister had a stroke and she needs us to take care of Cyrus for a few days and -"

"Stiles," Allison interrupts. "I -," a pause, "I won't be able to help out today."

Stiles puts down the bowl, taking the phone in his hand. "Oh," he turns to Derek, who's watching intently over the newspaper, "okay, yeah that's fine, is everything alright?"

"Yeah," she replies quickly. "Just, something came up, is all."

Derek raises his eyebrow. "Is there anything I can do?" Stiles asks, a little worried. "If I can help at all, you know you can ask."

She's silent for a few seconds. "Thank you, Stiles," is all she says. "I - I'll call you later." The speaker crackles as Allison hangs up.

Stiles stares at his phone. "Huh," he says. He returns to his meatballs, dumping in assorted powders and vegetables, feeling uneasy about the call.

Eventually, Scott ambles over, bumping his nose against his leg in greeting. Stiles sighs at him. "Sorry, buddy," he says. "Allison's not coming over today."

Scott perks up at the sound of Allison's name, his tail wagging. Oh you poor fool, Stiles laments as he covers the bowl with plastic wrap, setting it in the refrigerator. 

Wait. Shit. "Allison's not coming over," Stiles repeats slowly. He looks at Scott, who yips at him, turns to Derek, who looks confused by his sudden onset panic, turns to his watch and swears. He had to leave for class three minutes ago.

Oh god, he thinks as he wildly alternates between reaching for the fridge and reaching for his backpack. If Allison's not coming, then that means he has to go and run errands right after class  _and_ pick up Cyrus, but then that means he won't make it home in time to walk the pups before it gets dark and finish up their special Friday dinner. His dad is working late, as always, and there's no one -

"Derek." Derek's eyes peer warily at him above the comics section. "You don't have work today." If that's not a fact, it is now. "I need you to do some stuff for me."

"I don't think this is a good idea," Derek tries to argue but Stiles is having none of it. Stiles rips the notepad off the refrigerator door, the Golden Gate Bridge magnet flying off god knows where, and throws it down on the kitchen table. Derek stands to look over Stiles' shoulder. Too bad he's too busy panicking to appreciate it.

"While you implying that I can do something that you can't is awesome, I need you to man up," Stiles snaps hurriedly, writing as fast as he can. "All I'm asking you to do is make sure they behave. It's just some simple stuff. Walk them, make their meatballs, you've seen me do it tons of times." He tears the paper off and waves it impatiently at Derek, who quickly takes it. "And when I say 'walk', I mean, you, _human you_ , with leashes and sidewalks. If I go to bed tonight and Scott's breath stinks of animal blood _again_ , I will literally kill you."

"It was a good pack bonding experience," Derek grumbles as he skims the note. "'Preheat at 350 degrees, divide into multiples of six'?" He reads, shooting Stiles an inquisitive look.

"Just because they're dogs doesn't mean they don't know how to count," Stiles murmurs distractedly, patting his pockets to make sure he has all his things. "I learned that the hard way." Grabbing his keys, he pats Derek on the shoulder and points at him, walking backwards to the front door. "I'm counting on you!"

The front door slams shut. Derek stands in the middle of the kitchen, note in hand, Scott pawing at his leg. He looks down at Scott, who barks.

"Thanks for the pep talk," he sighs sardonically.

-

Stiles has never been so glad to be home. School was manageable, but he had a row with the employee at the pet store, who apparently only gives discounts if Allison is there to butter him up ("Are you saying I'm not attractive? That you wouldn't want a piece of _this_?!" Stiles had shouted with mock outrage as the employee - Adam - stammered, not knowing what to do. Needless to say, he got his goddamn discount).Then there was traffic on the way to Mrs. Willis', and though Cyrus isn't very fussy, he had to deal with a weepy Mrs. Willis and just, no. Pulling up to the driveway, he notes optimistically that everything looks fine on the outside. No cops. That's always a plus.

"Alright Cyrus," he says tiredly, putting his Jeep into park. "Let's get you inside."

Grabbing his backpack and Cyrus' leash, he makes his way to the front door. With every step, he feels a growing edge of dread. He trusts Derek, of course, but...

Approaching the door, he hears skittering. And growling. Sticking his key into the doorknob, he can hear all noise cease. He narrows his eyes. "Very suspicious," he mutters. Cyrus blinks up at him.

He pushes open the door, checking the hall and the living room, which are both in their usual states of disarray. So far, so good. He slowly walks in.

The kitchen, is a mess. There are overturned chairs, menus, notes and more magnets strewn on the ground. A jar of peanut butter rolls slowly on the ground, undoubtedly covered in dog saliva. The pups, upon seeing him, all start barking and wriggling from under Derek's giant wolf form, with the exception of Isaac, who looks thoroughly beaten from where he has his curly ruff clamped in Derek's mouth. Scott yaps happily at Stiles, his head smushed between the floor and Derek's paw. Stiles throws out his arms.

"You had one job," he cries with disbelief. Two actually, but still.

Derek flattens his ears and whines. At least he has the decency to look guilty.

-

"They rebelled," Derek insists as he tosses out the peanut butter with one hand, scribbling "peanut butter" in his messy cursive script on their weekly shopping list with the other.

"Really?" Stiles scoffs from where he's lying on the ground, trying to look for the missing magnets under the fridge. "Rebelled against their big bad Alpha?"

Derek scowls, setting the chairs upright. "Scott was colluding with Isaac to get to the peanut butter," he explains somberly. "The others were getting antsy when you didn't come home. He convinced them to raid the fridge."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "I'll make sure to keep him away from any countries in states of civil unrest."

He prays Allison will be here tomorrow.

-

"I can't help out anymore," Allison tells him over the phone the next morning.

Swallowing down a gulp of orange juice, Stiles glares accusingly at Derek, who glares back. "Why?" He asks, already knowing the answer. Ever since Derek told him that the Argents knew his family, knew about him being a werewolf, he kinda expected this day to come. He had been hoping yesterday was just a fluke though.

He can hear her hesitation. "My dad said that I'm not allowed," she finally says, her tone grudging.

Derek rolls his eyes as if to say _of course he says that_. His clear dislike for Mr. Argent is a consistent characteristic of his. He doesn't glare at Mr. Argent by the window anymore; now he glares from behind doorways. Boyd, unexpectedly, has taken up the window instead. When they do talk, which Stiles tries hard to prevent, their "how have you been"s sound more like "I wish I could gut you right now"s. "Is it because of Derek? Because he's all mysterious and kinda creepy?" Stiles ignores the offended look on Derek's face as he walks over to the fridge. _A-ha_ , he mouths, tapping twice on the little calendar pinned by a Disneyland magnet, one with the phases of the moon. Full moon's coming up. "He's a nice enough guy once you get past his terrible personality." Then he adds, "I can promise that I'll never leave you at my house alone with him."

"It's not that," Allison says with a hint of laughter before sighing. "Stiles, you know that I love helping you with the dogs, but my dad isn't too keen on it anymore. He wants - he says I should focus more on school."

Stiles knows a liar when he er, hears one. He wrinkles his nose, tapping his fingers against the kitchen counter as Allison shifts around on the other end of the line, waiting for a response.

"Could I talk to your dad?" He asks abruptly. 

"Um...," Allison sounds uneasy. He hears her cover the mouthpiece, her voice barely coming through, and hears another voice. "He's not -"

"That's fine, I'll just drop by your house in a bit!" He declares. "I'll uh bring Scott by to visit since y'know, he missed you yesterday and I'll have a chat with your dad, sound good? Great, see you then!" He hangs up before Allison can get a word in.

Stiles bows his head and takes a deep breath. The newspaper crinkles behind him.

"What are you going to say to him?" Derek asks.

"No idea," he sighs, heavy with regret, rubbing his neck before grabbing his keys. "Walk the pups while I'm out. Don't forget Cyrus too."

Derek frowns but doesn't say anything as Stiles leashes Scott up and heads to the Jeep.

-

He wasn't lying when he said he didn't have a plan. He rings the doorbell and fidgets in front of Allison's house as Scott's tail thumps energetically against his calf. "Glad to know you're still in high spirits," he mutters to Scott. Truthfully, Mr. Argent kinda terrifies him. Stiles feels like he doesn't like him very much. Never seems to like his jokes, always asks him questions with this mocking/threatening tone, giving him the impression that any answer at all would be unsatisfactory. But he needs Allison.

His heart jerks as the door swings open, revealing Mr. Argent's stern face. He manages a smile, hoping it doesn't look too forced. "Good afternoon, Mr. Argent."

"Stiles, my daughter had already told you that she is no longer going to be able to help you with your," he glances down at Scott, "pets." He crosses his arms over his chest. "This is edging on harassment, as you probably well know."

Man does not mince words, he'll give him that. "Look, I know, Mr. Argent, I just -," he tries not to wilt under Mr. Argent's intense stare, "- the truth is, I can't do this without Allison. This thing has grown around the both of us, not just me. So if there's something I could change that will allow her to continue to volunteer, I'll change it."

Mr. Argent stares him down a little while longer, just to make him squirm, he suspects, before calling out, "Allison." Stiles sees her come out of the living room. "Why don't you take Scott for a second?

Allison gives him a small smile as she comes over, taking Scott's leash and leading him out to the front lawn. Mr. Argent steps outside, shutting the door behind him, glancing over at Allison.

"You're a smart kid, Stiles," Mr. Argent says quietly. "So let's not beat around the bush."

Wow, this conversation's moving fast. "Alright then." Stiles squares his shoulders. "You think Derek's going to wolf out on the coming full moon."

He tries not to smirk triumphantly when Mr. Argen's face falls. "You know," he says, more like a question.

"Derek told me." _This isn't going to go well_ , he thinks glumly but it doesn't stop him from saying, "Also told me about your family. About how your sister murdered nearly his entire family. And yeah," he interjects before Mr. Argent can speak, "I checked the police report, so I know he wasn't lying."

Ooh, that really rattles him. As it should. Aaand there's a hand around the collar of his jacket.

"You've got an Alpha without a pack. You think feeding him a couple of biscuits and playing catch with him will keep him in line?" Mr. Argent says fiercely, yanking him just out of Allison's line of vision. "You don't know anything, kid."

"I know you're supposed to follow a code," Stiles shoots back, his voice steely. "His family didn't kill anyone, but your sister killed them anyway. And from what I know, she recently died, right here in Beacon Hills. Makes me wonder what her punishment was all those years ago." He pauses, canting his head. "If she was punished at all."

_Stilinski, you're taunting an honest to god werewolf hunter, are you suicidal_ , his inner voice shrills. Mr. Argent's lip curls, his fist still pushing against Stiles' throat but Stiles doesn't flinch, even though he's pretty sure his heart is pounding hard enough to crack a rib. He tries another tactic.

"Does Allison know?"

Mr. Argent turns away with a sigh, his grip loosening, and Stiles knows that sigh. He's heard his father sigh that sigh many times, usually when he sets his mind on something he doesn't approve of. "I told her when he first came into town as a wolf and she insisted that she could take care of herself. But I'm not going to take that chance."

"He's not going to hurt her," Stiles tells him. "He's got it under control."

Mr. Argent looks over at Allison, who's smiling as she watches Scott chew on a squeaky toy she brought him. "How do you know that?" He asks. And there it is. Fatherly concern. "He has enough reasons to hold a vendetta against her."

Derek made Stiles swear on his life to never tell a soul that he sometimes let Allison brush his coat and scratch his ears back in his wolf days, so instead he says, shrugging, "Scott likes her too much. Derek wouldn't want to alienate him. He's pack."

Mr. Argent looks incredulous. "Pack?" He repeats, an eyebrow raised.

"We're a pack," Stiles affirms proudly. "We take care of each other."

Mr. Argent looks thoughtful before his eyes flick over to something over his shoulder, something that causes him to suddenly release his hold on Stiles. Stiles follows his gaze as he straightens out his hoodie and almost, almost covers his face with his hand. 

Derek is standing at the edge of the driveway, hands shoved in his pockets. "Just in the neighborhood," he calls coolly. He would look impressive, with his leather jacket and the fiery blaze of his glare and all, but the effect is diminished by the six colorful leashes he has looped around one wrist, the pups and Cyrus piled up around his feet, tongues lolling, and the fact that Scott has bounded over and started trying to jump on him. If it's any consolation, Stiles finds it painfully cute. "Thought I'd drop by, see how you're doing."

_Our neighborhoods are 5 miles apart, Derek_ , Stiles thinks. _You're not fooling anyone._

"Yeah, we're good," he calls back weakly. "Did you remember to bring the -," Derek points to his waist where he has Stiles' walking pack, outfitted with plastic bags as well as water and portable bowls, "- right, great." Of course, Derek manages to still look attractive wearing that glorified fanny pack. He looks like some sort of sexy mountaineer. Stiles just ends up looking like a dork.

He turns back to Mr. Argent, who looks like he can't decide if he should be shocked or laughing. "Soooo," he says, voice strained, as Derek kneels down to pour water into the bowls, still maintaining his glare at Mr. Argent, "can Allison start volunteering again?"

-

"I totally had that under control," Stiles gripes under his breath as he buckles his seatbelt, Derek sliding into the passenger seat, the pups all herded into the back. He smiles briefly as he waves at Allison, who will be resuming her regular volunteer duties, before he pulls out of the driveway.

"He was grabbing you and your heartbeat was out of control," Derek growls. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, you crazy psycho - _stop touching me_ -," Stiles bats his hands away because Derek being concerned is like at least one of his top five kinks and _hello_ , driving, "- I'm fine, he didn't do anything."

Derek removes his hands with some reluctance, settling back in the seat. "He could've," he says, scowling.

"Probably, but he wouldn't have," Stiles says reasonably. He _is_ the sheriff's kid. "That went better than expected actually. I feel like maybe you and the Argents can start sending each other passive aggressive Christmas cards. Start working out a less antagonistic relationship, y'know?"

"Never," Derek decides resolutely.

-

"Go take a shower," Derek grunts the moment they get home. Stiles stops, his hand still on the door. He sniffs himself perfunctorily.

"Wha - do I smell bad? I showered this morning -"

"Shower again."

Weird, he thinks. Then it strikes him. "This is a scent thing, isn't it?" He asks gleefully, pointing at where Mr. Argent had grabbed him.

Derek shoves him toward the stairs, scowling and - is that embarrassment? "I have to sleep with you every night. The least you can do is not smell like someone whose neck I'd like to wring," he says grumpily as he hangs up the leashes.

Wow, he didn't have to make sleeping with him sound like a chore. "Oh, Derek," he says instead, clasping his hands, all goo-goo-eyed, "you mean you don't want to wring _my_ neck? That's so sweet."

Derek gives him a withering look. "I'm thinking of wringing your neck now." 

Stiles runs upstairs, grinning.

-

"Derek, have you seen my hoodie?"

"You have like fifty."

"Y'know, the one I wore to Allison's, it's -"

"No."

"...Are you sure? It's red and -"

"Yeah."

"...right."

Later, Stiles finds the hoodie, slashed up, in the trash bin. "This is totally a scent thing," he mutters fondly. 

He really shouldn't be so fond of a guy whose behavior is consistent with possessive boyfriends.

But god, he totally let Derek rub his (wolfy) face all over his face last night though. It's that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the most unorganized writer ever. Next few chapters will be me trying to deal with the OOCness and character development and also plot hole filling in the middle of writing about puppies. I don't know, I am terrible at long fics.
> 
> Thanks for reading, constructive criticism is always welcome.


	3. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek have their first big fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! Real life got in the way.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

Stiles is _furious_. Not just peeved, not just unhappy. But flat out, _fucking angry_.

The moment he gets home, he flings his backpack toward the stairs and shoves the front door behind him so hard the house rattles. Isaac, who had been trotting down the hallway to greet him, jumps back and retreats with a whimper. By the time he's reached the kitchen, Derek is already standing, his eyebrows pinched in confusion.

"Don't you have cla -"

Stiles, his lips drawn taut, wordlessly pulls out his phone and slams it down on the kitchen table. Derek only glances briefly at the phone before turning back to him. Raising his eyebrows, Stiles jabs his finger emphatically at the phone. Slowly, Derek picks it up and looks at it, the police reports on the deaths on Kate Argent and Peter Hale displayed on the screen, causes of death highlighted. Both were allegedly killed by mountain lions. Right. Didn't take long for Stiles to connect the dots. His expression carefully blank, Derek tenses and straightens his back. He knows.

"You fucking asshole," Stiles hisses. "I had to get this from Mr. Argent." His fingernails dig into his palm. "Tell me it isn't true."

He watches Derek, watches him grit his teeth, watches the way his hand tightens around the phone, waiting for his tell because Derek, with his weird moral qualm, only knows how to lie by omission. So when Derek finally meets his gaze, he knows that he has to answer and he looks guilty. "I can explain," he begins, and Stiles feels his heart plummet.

"Oh my god," he whispers with disbelief, his blood running cold. He turns away, running a hand through his buzzed hair, walking away because _he can't deal with this_. His hands are shaking, his breathing is becoming erratic and he _can't stop_  - "Oh my god," he repeats, turning back, shouting hysterically this time, " _you killed your uncle?!_ "

Now Derek is getting angry, like he has the goddamn right. "You don't know the whole story," he grinds out, tossing Stiles' phone back on the table with a clatter.

"That's not the fucking point!" He shouts. "The point is that I didn't hear this from you first! Do you know what kind of shit was running through my head -," he stops himself, biting his lip. He sees Derek's hand twitch toward him, like he wants to do something ridiculous like  _comfort him_. "Why didn't you tell me?" He breathes.

Derek forces out a laugh. "Oh, so I should have told you in the middle of dinner? 'By the way, my uncle went insane, started going on a killing spree, which included my sister, and I was forced to kill him?' Yeah, that would've gone over well."

"How about when you were telling me about Kate?" Stiles snarls. "That would've been a good fucking tangent!" 

He regrets it the moment he sees Derek flinch. He expects Derek to yell back, maybe even lash out, having seen his temper toward other people, but Derek just seems to reel himself in, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. "It wasn't necessary," he says, voice rough.

"Wasn't -," a disbelieving laugh escapes Stiles' mouth, "are you kidding me? _Wasn't necessary_? I think I deserved to know that you killed someone!"

Derek's eyes harden. "I'm not obligated to tell you shit," he says coldly. "This isn't any of your business."

Stiles feels like he's been punched in the gut. He stares at Derek, watches his face fall, but he bites down on his lip, tells himself, don't, and nods. "Fine," he whispers. He turns away, feeling his throat close. "Okay."

He ignores Derek's (worried, god, he's worried) "Stiles -", walks to his bedroom, past the pups huddled up in the hallway, and shuts the door. Locks it.

-

Derek killed someone. 

Sitting on his bed, he sucks in shaky breaths as his vision blurs with unshed tears, trying not to think about the scratching and whining on the other side of the door. He counts _one, two, onetwo, one, two, onetwoonetwo -_

Derek didn't trust him.

That shouldn't be what's bothering him most. 

-

A few hours later, he hears the footsteps down the hall, the familiar sound of paws scrambling around on the hardwood floor, then a knock on the door. "Stiles?" His father's muffled voice calls. "Can I come in?"

Stiles tears his eyes away from his computer screen, rubbing them hard, the fatigue of going through this week's and next week's assignments, as well as half of the assignments for the week after that, hitting him full force. "Yeah," he answers, his voice hoarse from the yelling and sudden disuse that followed, turning his chair toward the door as his dad walks in. Scott and Isaac manage to squeeze past him and head straight toward Stiles. He scratches their heads, gives Isaac an apologetic kiss on the head, as they curl around his feet.

His dad sits in the chair beside him, swiveling to look at him. Stiles stares at his feet. "Got a call from Mr. Kim next door," his dad says. "Told me that my son and his -," he scratches his head awkwardly, "- uh, boyfriend were having a fight."

Normally, Stiles would flush and profusely deny the boyfriend rumor, but not today. Today, he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, sighing angrily. His father observes.

"It sounded pretty serious, apparently serious enough to warrant -," he coughs, a poor attempt at concealing a laugh, "- a domestic disturbance call," he continues, cocking his head to try to catch Stiles' eye. "You guys...have never really had a fight this bad."

"Stop making us sound like we're married, dad," Stiles says sulkily.

His dad clicks his tongue, shrugging. "You kinda are, son."

Stiles drops his hands and shoots him a betrayed look, his outrage trapped in his throat. He cries dramatically, "Aren't you supposed to be on my side? Defending my honor and everything? You're already marrying me off to Derek?" 

"We'll, it's kinda hard to be on your side after watching him mope on the couch for the past three hours," he counters, voice laden of sympathy. "It's painful just to watch. The dogs are even ignoring him."

Good. "Serves him right," Stiles says meanly. 

His dad sighs and taps his fingers idly on the desk, pursing his lips. Oh, Stiles knows this look. His dad wants to say something. He's debating on whether he should say it. Stiles leans forward and stares at him hard, urging his father to speak with the raising of his eyebrows. 

Heaving another sigh, his dad breaks. "He told me," he eventually admits, wincing in preparation for Stiles' reaction. It takes a minute for Stiles to process his words, but he delivers, violently lurching forward in shock, flailing.

"What?!" Scott and Isaac's heads shoot up with his distress. "You mean -"

"His uncle, his sister," his dad says, making a vague all-encompassing sort of gesture with his hand, "and Kate Argent, yeah."

Unbelievable. "Oh, that's fantastic," Stiles throws up his hands, "he tells you, no problem, but not me. And you're the _sheriff_." 

"Well," his dad says, leaning back, "I prefaced it with 'if it's werewolf-related, I won't be able to touch it', which probably made it considerably easier."

Stiles stops and looks at his dad, who's watching his freakout with the usual mild amusement. "Wait, you're calm." He squints his eyes at him, suspicious. "Why are you calm? Better question, why is he not arrest - wait," he stops, holding up a hand, his mind reeling, " _are you okay with it?_ "

His father sighs again, this conversation must be taking a toll on him, and lets out a sort of begrudged groaning noise, pinching the bridge of his nose and slumping back in his chair. " _No_ , but if what Derek told me is true, it's not like I could have arrested him anyway. The evidence wouldn't point definitively to him, or any human being for that matter, and the 'he's a werewolf' explanation probably wouldn't hold up in court. Same would've applied to his uncle."

Stiles lets out a relieved exhale before falling back in his chair, mirroring his father's stance. Nice to know he's not actually in a bizarro world where his dad actually brushes off _murder_ too. Scott puts his head on Stiles' thigh and sighs with them. "This is all so messed up," Stiles mutters after a long silence.

"You're telling me," his dad mutters back. "I'm justifying letting a guy who killed someone stay in my house."

"Who also sleeps with me."

His father casts him a pained look. "Why did you have to bring that up?"

Stiles lets out a weak laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. His dad sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen, I'm not gonna pretend to understand the screwed up world that Derek has had to live in, with werewolves and hunters and packs and whatever else that's out there. But his uncle killed Kate Argent, killed his own niece, probably would've kept killing if Derek didn't stop him."

"I know," Stiles says quietly. "I just -," he shakes his hands with frustration, "- got a lot of stuff on my mind."

"Right." His dad squeezes his shoulder as he stands. "Well, dinner's downstairs. Derek went out at some point and got you curly fries. They're in the microwave." He pauses at the door to add, "And yes, he got me a salad."

Stiles sighs, burying his face in his hands. "Of course he did."

-

Typically, when they fight, it's over things like not buying milk when they drink the last of it or not properly delegating duties for everyone and therefore causing problems or getting greasy food when his dad is home. Then the pups take a side and either sleep with Stiles on the bed or with Derek on the couch. Their issue is usually resolved in the next day or two.

Today was not typical in any way.

By bedtime, the pups are all on his bed, ready to sleep. So, they've taken his side this time. 

It doesn't feel like a victory.

Shutting off his computer, he looks to the doorway. His dad has already gone to bed. The hallway is dark, save for very faint color-changing glow coming from downstairs. He looks at the pups, who are getting sleepy. Isaac, however, is shifting restlessly on the edge of the bed. He never likes it when they fight, much less make loud noises. Poor pup was abused for god's sake. Isaac lays his head on his paws and Stiles  groans, unable to look away from his sad eyes. Those eyes are asking him, in Isaac's (imaginary) undoubtedly adorable puppy voice,  _where's Papa?_

"Alright, alright, I'll go," he whines, standing. He needs a stronger backbone or less manipulative puppies.

As he pads down the stairs, he can only catch a glimpse of Derek's now messy hair poking out from the side of the couch, but he can clearly see that _Teen Mom_ is playing on the television, the volume probably at Derek's "watching TV alone" setting (so, just a step above mute). He can feel the angst radiating from the general area of the living room.  _Oh my god_ , he mouths as he immediately changes course and detours toward the kitchen. _Am I supposed to cry or laugh?_  He decides instead on fiddling with the microwave. It hums noisily as it heats up his curly fries.

Derek does not make a single noise the entire time. The microwave emits a shrill beep. Pregnant teenage girls weep silently on the television. Stiles watches with his hip leaning against the kitchen counter, chewing slowly on his curly fries. Extra large. Derek must feel really bad.

For a while, they just stay like that; Derek gets up once to use the restroom, carefully avoiding eye contact as he goes to and fro, before falling heavily back onto the couch like he's some sort of a martyr. It's really, really sad, like enough for Stiles, on a typical day, to forgive him, but it's not enough today. Because Stiles just spent the better part of the day continuously postponing and then suffering a panic attack, wondering if Derek really had killed someone, wondering what he would do if it were true, and then having to immediately deal with it. Did Derek regret it? Did it have to be done? How can he reconcile with the fact that this is Derek, the wolf with the attitude problem who became the man who plays with the pups, growls at cars when he fixes them and buys him curly fries when he's mad and the man who lost his family, who killed his own flesh and blood? 

Everything's so goddamn complicated. And to think that he would miss the days when his greatest worry about adopting Derek was that he would just straight up kill them.

When the _Jersey Shore_ reruns start, Stiles decides that he needs to intervene. Wiping his hands on his shirt, he walks over to the couch and leans over the back to see Derek still dressed in his jeans and t-shirt, facing the television with a cushion tucked between his arm and head. His mouth is set in a frown, his brows furrowed. He casts Stiles a very brief (sad-eyed, like Isaac because Derek played dirty as a wolf and plays dirty as a grown-ass man too) glance before returning to presumably stare into space because he cannot possibly be actually watching this. That would just be terrible.

"You ready for bed, big guy?" Stiles says softly. Derek looks at him again, this time with surprise, brows still furrowed. Stiles shrugs, pushing off the couch to head back upstairs. The television turns off behind him, followed by near-silent footsteps.

He brushes his teeth while Derek goes to the guest room to shift. The guest room is filled with their old things, no bed, but Derek stores his clothes there in one of the dusty dressers because Stiles adamantly refused to give Derek a drawer in his room. For obvious reasons.

When he returns, Derek is sitting on his hind legs by the bed, still as a statue. Most of the pups are already asleep, but Scott is making low growling noises at Derek and Isaac looks pleased. He thinks he hears Lydia scoff. He climbs onto the bed, wrestling Scott down and consoling him with a belly rub as Isaac settles contently in his usual spot. Derek stares at him, shifting uneasily on his feet, as he lies down. After a brief staredown, Stiles motions him over with a jerk of his head.

Derek sets his paws on the bed and tentatively hops on before settling on the very edge of the bed. They both stare at the gaping space between them for a while before Stiles rolls his eyes and grabs Derek's fur, tugging lightly until he scoots closer.

"Hey," he whispers when they're finally resettled, "I'm still mad at you."

Derek lets out a low whine.

"And I know we both hate talking about feelings," he continues, his hand still tangled in Derek's fur, lifting up and down with each breath he takes, "so I'm just going to say my piece and we're not going to talk about it until maybe we fight again. But that's hopefully never."

Derek lifts his head to turn it on the side, raising one of his ears.

"You were wrong, okay? About this not being my business. Because it is. Because you said we were a pack -," Derek makes an unhappy noise, moving to turn away but Stiles holds fast to his ruff, "- Derek, you don't have to carry your burdens on your own."

He stops moving. Scott blinks up at Stiles, snuffling curiously.

"I know you've had a rough life," he says softly. "I know that it's not easy to trust people. But you're not alone anymore. The stuff that happens to you happens to us too. Listen, I'm not asking for you to give me your detailed life history. But things like this, these big potentially life-ruining secrets? We have to talk about those, okay?"

Derek doesn't respond, his muzzle still pointed away from Stiles. Stiles scowls at the back of his head and sighs.

"Okay, now I'm back to being unhappy with you," he sniffs, tucking his hand back under Scott. Then he adds, mostly out of habit, "Good night, sourwolf."

He ignores the wet nose that pokes against his cheek just before he drifts to sleep.

-

The next morning, Stiles walks into the kitchen to see Derek cooking, the pups eating from their bowls noisily beside him. It's a little tense and awkward, with his father regarding them both carefully all throughout breakfast (bacon and scrambled egg whites), but beyond that, it's business as usual. Derek reads through the newspaper silently, while Stiles tries to figure out why the eggs taste better today. 

After his dad finishes his food, Derek politely raises his newspaper so Stiles and his dad can have a private wordless conversation involving a lot of head jerks and pinched expressions. Eventually, Stiles manages to reassure his dad enough about the situation for him to leave for work.

Derek and Stiles don't talk, even when Stiles collects his plate to take to the sink. Stiles is in the middle of scrubbing down the pan when Derek's chair scrapes against the tile floor.

"I'm sorry," Derek says quietly as he moves to stand beside him, grabbing another sponge and picking up a plate. "About what I said."

Stiles stops his scrubbing to wipe some foam off his nose. "I know."

They stand in silence side by side, doing the dishes. Well, trying to do the dishes, on Stiles' part. He holds up the pan to the light. What the hell is this gunk on here?

"I cooked the eggs in the leftover bacon fat." 

Stiles' attention snaps away from the pan to Derek, his mouth slack with disbelief.

"I knew it! I knew there was something off, you _heathen_ ," he cries, aghast.

"I literally poured out most of it and used what was left on the pan," Derek says indignantly, soaping up the dishes.

Stiles refuses to acknowledge the fact that Derek did this on one of his dad's designated cheat days. "My dad should've just shot you last night," he says vindictively, resuming his violent scrubbing. He catches the small smile on Derek's face and glowers. "I don't see why you're so cheery."

"At least you didn't say he should've killed me," Derek points out. "I can heal from a bullet wound."

"Right. Because nothing says 'apology accepted' like a hypothetical bullet to a non-essential area," he snipes sarcastically. Except that's exactly what that says. Derek says as much with the look on his face. Stiles glares until he gets tired of scrunching his face and throws down the pan and sponge. Being mad is tiring. "Just wash your disgraceful bacon fat-soaked pan."

Derek lets out a quiet laugh. "Laura always hated that I cooked with bacon fat, especially when she had to do the dishes."

Their eyes meet, both wide with surprise. Derek quickly looks away, focusing instead on thoroughly rinsing the plates. Stiles, however, stares openly at that pouty bashful look on his face before turning away and pushing off the counter with a smile. 

-

Later that afternoon, the doorbell starts ringing just as Stiles is in the middle of painstakingly measuring out Erica's medicine. "Goddammit," he mutters, making an abortive movement toward the door before swearing again. Spilling a spoonful of medicine all over the ground where his pups often tread wouldn't be very good. "Be there in a minute!" He shouts.

"I got it," Derek says from the hallway as he walks toward the door, smoothly shrugging on his jacket. The doorbell rings one more time before Derek pulls it open. Allison tenses in the doorway, surprised.

"Hey Derek," she greets, a little tentatively. 

He nods at her. "Allison," he returns evenly. He looks over his shoulder at Stiles, who's holding the bottle and spoon like he's measuring hydrochloric acid. "I'm going."

"Yeah," Stiles calls distractedly as he tilts the bottle to let a single drop onto the spoon. _Yes_ , he thinks triumphantly, _38 more to go_. "Oh, Derek, I need you to -"

"Yeah."

"And also, get some -"

"Got it."

"And don't forget -"

Derek gives Allison a long-suffering look, to which she laughs. "I know, Stiles."

"See you later, Derek," Stiles says as Allison steps aside to let Derek go. 

Allison shuts the door behind her and walks into the kitchen. "Stiles, you know we have a little measuring cup for that, right?"

"Someone," Stiles shoots a dirty look toward the armchair in the living room, which Jackson is currently napping on, "chewed on it. So we actually don't have one anymore."

With a sigh, Allison gestures for the spoon and bottle, which Stiles gratefully relinquishes. She measures out the doses in less than three seconds, a skill that Stiles will forever admire.

"Don't know what I'd do without you, Allison."

"Curl up in a ball and cry, probably," she says with a grin, mixing the medicine into a bit of wet food for Erica. "Soooo," she begins and Stiles groans, already dreading the conversation they're about to have because judging by the tone of her voice, she wants to talk about some gossip. "You and Derek were awfully chummy today."

Stiles casts her an odd look as he refills the water bowls. "Were we acting weird?"

"That's the thing. It was normal," she says, clucking her tongue at Erica as she sets down her bowl. Erica pads over and growls a little at Allison before eating. Stiles suspects that Derek was instilling a dislike for Allison in the pups in his early wolf days. He's making him fix it. "But I heard you and Derek got into a little domestic yesterday."

 _What_. "What?" 

"Y'know," she gives him a significant look, "a fight?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "I know what a 'domestic' is, Allison, and I'm ignoring the implication of your choice of words," to which she grins, "and focusing more on how you even know."

She shrugs. "Danny told me."

"Danny told you," he repeats. 

"He texted me. Said you looked at your phone, muttered 'Derek', silently flipped out, and then immediately stormed out of lecture. A mandatory lecture," she whispers, like it's _scandalous_.

Goddammit, Danny. He's going to have words with him. "That still doesn't explain how you know."

Allison evades his eyes at that, pursing her lips. "I may have also heard the domestic disturbance call on my dad's police scanner?" 

Stiles groans, running a hand down his face. He thought his dad was just making another one of his bad jokes. "And you probably also know what your father sent to me."

Allison squints one eye at him before sighing, her shoulders sagging. "Yes," she admits sheepishly.

He throws up his hands. "Then I don't know why you're bringing this up!" He exclaims, walking over to the living room, Allison hot on his heels.

"Well, I mean," she rounds him, stopping him in his tracks, "look, I know why my dad sent them and what reaction he had been hoping for, and I apologize on his behalf, because it was kinda underhanded, so I'm just curious how," she gestures at the front door, "all that happened. I mean, you warmed up to the werewolf thing pretty fast, but..."

"You mean you want to know why I don't have a bloody wolf pelt on my living room floor right now," he says bluntly. She shrugs. Stiles sighs and puts his hands on her shoulders to sit her down on the couch. "By the way, I'm glad we're finally addressing that we both know how insane our lives are."

She dismisses his statement with a wave of her hand. "So," she says, leaning forward with intense interest, "what happened?"

"Uh, it was -," not as bad as expected, if he's being honest, "- pretty straightforward? Y'know, there was the confrontation, yelling, silent treatment, gradual and begrudging forgiveness...," he trails off at Allison's disbelieving look. "I don't know what to tell you, Allison! We fought, sorted out our issues, and I forgave him. My life isn't a television show!"

"You guys had a straightforward argument," she says incredulously, "about Derek killing his uncle."

"You just completely," he waves his hand, "ignored that passing comment I made about our lives being insane, didn't you?"

"You've had longer fights over dog food."

"We are extremely passionate about the nutrition we provide the pups."

Allison pulls back, her expression thoughtful. "Uh huh."

He lightly slaps his hands down on his thighs. "Yeah."

"So you and Derek," she makes a vague gesture with her hands, "all good about this."

He nods slowly. "Mmm, more or less."

"Uh huh," she says again, a smile on her lips.

Stiles stares at her. She stares back with this weird expectant, knowing look -

"You think I like him," Stiles says with a little laugh, trying to play it off with a bit of disbelief. 

"Oh, no," she says, her smile widening. He gets a brief moment of relief before, "you love him."

A second too late, Stiles guffaws unconvincingly and continues to laugh while Allison stares at him smugly. It eventually dies down when he realizes that she's not joking.

"Oh _god_ ," he mutters miserably. Allison pats him sympathetically on the shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, this chapter took forever. I don't like it much. I didn't want there to be sadness but it happened briefly. I can't write fights. I hope it was alright for you guys. If not, leave a comment with your thoughts!


	4. Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles notices a girl noticing Derek.

Their rather anticlimactic fight brought more good than bad, alarmingly so. Not only did it lead to Derek becoming a little more emotionally available but apparently it also unleashed the secret cuddlemonster Derek's been holding back because now he's ridiculously handsy. His respect for personal space was already pretty nonexistent but now it's actually blatant scorn for the idea. Almost every day, he makes time to shift and play with the pups, rolling around with them in the backyard, prancing lightly on his feet and batting at their noses while they play tag. Sometimes Stiles will come home to see Derek napping on the couch with puppies draped all over him or curled up around them in wolf form on the floor. It's so precious, really. He's taken photos, which, much to Derek's embarrassment, is among the photos that run as a slideshow all day on a digital photo frame sitting on his father's desk.

It's not just the pups either; Derek's been touching him a lot too. A hand on his shoulder here, a hand against his lower back there. More often than not, one side of his body feels warmer than the other because he's always just there. It's nice, very heartwarming and all, but like, once, Derek hooked his finger around Stiles' belt loop to lead him somewhere and Stiles was 98% sure he had seen that very move in the first two minutes of a porno and he tore himself away, mumbling that he forgot to get biscuits, and hid by the lizards because getting a hard-on in the pet store, _in front of the pups_ , is just wrong on so many levels.

The problem with being in their particular pack is that their pack is composed entirely of incompatibilities. After all, they're a two man, six dog wolf pack. Technically, only one half of them is actually a wolf. Or maybe five eighths? Some of the pups must have some wolf genetics. So while Stiles is glad that Derek is comfortable enough to emotionally and physically octopus himself all over him and the pups (really _really_ glad), his overt hovering is a little noticeable. Being overbearing toward the pups is seen by society as normal, but being overbearing toward _Stiles_ raises a few eyebrows and well, personally, he could really go without the false hope. 

Sure, he gets annoyed too when people show an interest in Derek, but it's not so much "grrr leave my Alpha alone" but rather "grrr go get your own grumpy werewolf husband".

-

"That's the third time this month," Stiles says in hushed tones as he leans against the side of his Jeep, casting another sidelong glance to the waiting room, where a girl, Jessie, name gleaned from the invoice on Derek's clipboard, hovers by the door. He thinks he's seen her around the college a few times. She's cute, has long brown hair, blue eyes, freckles. She quickly looks away, her cheeks flushing pink as she wrings her hands. Stiles unconsciously wrinkles his nose in her general direction while Derek makes a noncommittal grunt as he fiddles with...whatever's under the hood. "I mean, who comes to the mechanic's three times a month?"

"Street racers," Derek says absently.

Stiles gives him an unamused look. "That was hypothetical."

Derek hums, ignoring him. "You need new spark plugs."

"I think she's got a crush on you," Stiles whispers conspiratorially as Derek pulls down the hood and grabs his clipboard off his toolbox. "She keeps staring at you. Maybe she's sabotaging her car so she has an excuse to see you." He follows Derek as he rounds the car, checking the tires. "I bet that dent's from her own hammer."

Derek smirks as he scribbles something down. "That sounds like something you would do."

Stiles gasps indignantly, putting his hands protectively on his Jeep. "I would never hurt my baby." Except, in all honesty, if his mechanic was as hot as Derek and didn't live with him already, he probably would. With much more subtlety, of course.

"I don't know," Derek says, arching his brow. "You come here pretty often too, and sometimes not even with your car." He looks up from his clipboard, grinning coyly. "Have you got a crush on me?"

The old Stiles would have freaked out and given the game away at the sound of those words but carrying a torch for a lie-detecting werewolf has taught him the importance of careful word choice. He snorts. "Please -," _it's true love, Derek, you don't understand_ , "- I'm only here because you have no choice but to give me discounts." 

Derek does this very confusing expression/shrug combination - if Stiles' understanding of social cues is at all existent, it's like a little of "whatever" and a little more of "oh that's too bad because y'know wink wink nudge nudge" sprinkled in there, which makes absolutely no sense - before tearing out a copy of the invoice and smacking it onto Stiles' chest. "I feel like I'm being taken advantage of," he complains.

Stiles makes a big show of fist-pumping after seeing the 30% discount noted on the paper. "And I looove it," he singsongs, throwing Derek a wink before sauntering away to the waiting room.

Al, Derek's boss, looks up from behind the counter as Stiles walks in, tossing down his magazine to take his invoice. Adjusting his glasses, he looks it over and sighs, shaking his head as he moves to record it on his computer. "I don't know how, but you've got that boy whipped," he grunts.

Stiles beams. "I have my ways, dear Alfred," he says loftily, handing him his debit card. As he waits, he glances behind to see Jessie sitting in one of the chairs, watching him intently. 

Hm. A lot of people ogle at Derek but she's one of the few who have actually tried to move past passive staring toward actual interaction. It's admirable and also a threat, in Stiles's jealousy-skewed mind. Tapping his fingers on the counter, he turns and waves at her. Her lips twitch up in acknowledgement. Well, she seems friendly enough. A bit jumpy though, he notes as he moves to sit beside her. She tries to scoot away, unsuccessfully; he hopes she did it out of shyness rather than repulsion. "Jessie, right?"

She flushes and nods jerkily. "And you're Stiles," she says in a surprisingly firm voice.

He pulls back and blinks. "You know me?"

She nods again, brightening. "We're in Psychology together," she says before laughing nervously. "And Russian History...and Chemistry II...and uh yeah, you get the idea," she laughs again, waving her hand dismissively.

Wow. "Oh, I didn't...," he winces, "realize."

"Yeah," she says with some resignation. "I sit in the back anyway."

"So," he says, quickly changing the subject, "I noticed you looking at," he jabs his chin over at Derek, who glances over briefly before remembering that he's supposed to pretend he can't hear them, "that mechanic over there."

She chews on her lip, flushing again. "Is he...your friend?"

_What he is is off-limits, you homewrecker!_ \- "Yeah, I guess you could say that," he says instead. "He's renting a room in my house."

Apparently, his statement was extremely profound because Jessie takes on a very contemplative expression. "I see," she says slowly. They both glance over at Derek, who is, for reasons unknown, bending over, his skin-tight jean-clad butt right up for display. Stiles clears his throat.

"Do you wanna, y'know -," he makes a gesture that ends up actually looking more like he's miming the act of vomiting, "- ask him out?"

Jessie stares at him with a perplexed look on her face while a dull clang is heard from inside the garage. Stiles hears Al chuckling. Derek has hit his head on something again.

"I don't think that would be appropriate," she eventually says, her eyes drifting from Stiles to Derek.

"Is it because he's your mechanic?" Stiles asks, honestly curious because who doesn't want to tap _that_? "I mean, this isn't like a law firm, I'm sure there's no 'no dating clients' rule or anything -"

"I'm sorry," she interrupts, her brow furrowing with confusion. "Um," she leans forward and asks in a quiet voice, "are you guys in an open relationship or something?"

His brain short-circuits for a second.

An open -

_What._

He can't even muster up a response, the silence being filled instead with Al's booming laughter and another clatter of metal.

She covers her face, embarrassed. "Oh god, I'm sorry if that was too personal or if I assumed -"

Stiles shakes his head, a little dazed. "No no, uh, we," _sleep together and raise a puppy family together, no big deal_ , "aren't in a relationship. Not like that - I mean, not at all," he clarifies, trying to will his heart to slow down. He chances a look over at Derek, who is not so furtively watching him while picking up the tools he undoubtedly dropped, his hand repeatedly missing the screwdriver lying on the ground by inches, his face a picture of total nonchalance. 

Jessie looks at him, looks back at Derek again. "Oh, um," she twists her hands in her lap, "I think I'm just going to go now." She quickly stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I'll see you around," she mumbles, her face glowing red, before hurrying out the door.

Stiles stares at the now empty seat, looks back at Derek, who's already back to focusing on work, then looks at Al, who just shakes his head and opens up his magazine. "Kids these days," Al mutters.

Stiles holds his hand open, a bewildered look on his face. What does that even mean?

-

Sometimes Stiles hates Derek's need to get things done. _He's just too efficient_ , he thinks angrily. Like, he really can't spend that extra fifteen minutes after work to go home and clean up before going out to buy groceries?

"So she was nice," Stiles says casually, busying himself with perusing through assorted cereal boxes so he won't keep staring at the streak of oil on Derek's jawline.

Derek looks over a box of Wheaties, his brow scrunching in confusion. "Who?"

"Jessie."

Derek pauses, staring into space as he thinks, before uttering a brief, "Oh."

Stiles watches him expectantly. "Well?"

Derek tosses the cereal in the cart and pushes it along. "Well what?"

"Y'know," Stiles makes a complicated hand gesture, "about Jessie!"

"Who?"

"Oh my god," he groans, "you're doing that thing."

Derek feigns ignorance, cocking his head. "What thing?"

"That thing where you make me drag a conversation out of you to tire me out so I stop talking!" Then he adds, "Which never works."

Derek sighs dramatically. "Yeah, I know." He pulls up to the meat section, greeting the butcher, Steve, with a nod. "Three sirloins," he requests.

"Two," Stiles chimes in just as Steve moves to grab the steaks before he turns to glare at Derek. "Stop enabling my dad."

Derek doesn't even look at him. "Three."

"Two!"

"Three," Derek repeats to Steve, who has elected to just rest his hand on the steaks and watch on with amusement. "I'm not enabling him, I'm feeding him."

"Are you saying I don't feed my own father?" Stiles cries indignantly. "He has a perfectly good turkey burger at home -"

Steve makes a disapproving noise from behind the counter before turning to Derek. "The missus is always hard to please," he stage-whispers in a commiserating manner. Derek nods in agreement.

"This is a conspiracy," Stiles accuses hotly as Steve grabs three steaks and wraps it up for them. Derek thanks him and grins cheekily at Stiles as he sets them down in the cart with satisfaction. "And I resent that statement, Steve!"

Steve holds up his hands in surrender. "Sorry, Stiles, but 'partner' just doesn't flow as well, y'know?"

Stiles gapes at him while Derek pushes the cart away, his shoulders shaking suspiciously. "Really? That's what you got from that?" He flicks Steve off over his shoulder as he jogs after Derek. It just makes Steve laugh. Stiles is really losing his rep these days.

"Don't think you've got me off track," Stiles says breathlessly when he finally catches up to Derek in the juice section.

"One can only hope," Derek says under his breath, setting down a bottle of orange juice. 

"So, what'd you think of Jessie?" Stiles asks urgently, leaning against the cart. "Oh, and get some tropical punch, it's buy two get one free."

Derek rolls his eyes as he grabs two cartons. "Why do you want to know?" He grunts.

_I'm scoping out potential competition_ \- "You know me," he says with a, hopefully, casual shrug. "Gotta know things."

Derek scowls down at the milk jugs like they've personally wronged him. "She likes cats," he eventually says, grabbing the whole milk with unnecessary force.

Stiles squints at him. _That was so left-field_ , he thinks, but then realization hits him. "Oh my god, Derek," he says, "just because she has a Hello Kitty key fob does not mean she likes cats.

"Did you see the way she looked at Isaac that one time you brought him in?" Derek raises his eyebrows, waiting for an answer, before leaning forward to say, " _Disdainfully_."

"You're insane," Stiles mutters.

-

Jessie doesn't come back to the auto shop. But as luck would have it, a few weeks later, Stiles ends up pairing up with her for a class project. But that's not the worst part.

"Stiles!" Jessie calls from across the quad. She jogs over, greeting him with a small smile. "And um..."

"Derek," Derek intones from beside Stiles.

"Right," she laughs nervously. "You'd think that I would know your name by now but I'm just," she lightly smacks her forehead with her palm, "terrible with names."

Stiles stares at her incredulously while Derek nods. "It's fine," Derek says in clipped tones.

What? How does she not know his name? Isn't she the one who's been lurking in the auto shop for the past month, watching him? Maybe she was so intimidated by him that she couldn't even look at his name tag while he was looking over her car? That would be understandable. Derek doesn't score very high on cordiality on his customer feedback forms.

Stiles quickly schools his expression into something more neutral. "Jessie," he says with as much enthusiasm as he can muster as she looks down at Boyd, who's staring passively up at her, "what's up?"

"I just wanted to talk about the project for a bit," she says, inching away from Boyd before looking up, "and ask if you had time to go grab a bite before our next class?"

"Uh," he turns his palm up for Boyd to sniff and looks to Derek, who doesn't look very happy, "I kinda have a thing."

Then he feels a warm hand on his shoulder, not even the closest shoulder, but Derek's hand actually skims across his back to settle on his other shoulder. It's actually edging more on the side of his neck, to be honest. "We have to take Boyd to the vet," Derek elaborates icily. 

Jessie's eyes flick briefly to Derek's hand. "Oh."

"Sorry," Stiles says before the one-sided stare down between Derek and Jessie can escalate. "But uh," he slowly extracts himself from Derek's firm grip, "I have some time to talk about the project." He looks at Derek, his eyes widening in the universal message of _what the fuck_. "You mind waiting like, not here?"

Derek rolls his eyes but complies, much in the manner of a small child, tugging lightly on Boyd's leash and stomping away to a nearby bench.

"Other bench," Stiles calls, pointing to a bench clear across the quad. Derek takes the time to stop and shoot him a glare over his shoulder before walking further away. Stiles makes a face at Derek's broody back until Derek plops unhappily down on the bench before turning his attention back to Jessie. "Okay so, I was thinking for the project -"

"Were you lying about you and Derek?" She blurts.

"What?"

"About being in a relationship," she says. "Is this like a thing you guys don't want people to know about or -"

Over Jessie's shoulder, Stiles can see Derek watching the both of them with extreme focus, as if thinking that if he stares hard enough, he'll be able to hear what they're saying. He lets out a short sardonic laugh. "Look, I can see why you would think that -," _because Derek has weird intimacy issues_ , " - but we aren't. Seriously." 

Jessie gives him a disbelieving look. "He touches you a lot."

Yeah. He hasn't really found the right time to really ask about that.

She bites her lip when he doesn't respond. "And he seems really...protective of you."

He says the first thing that comes to mind. "That's just how he is." He looks over at Derek again, who's watching people walk by as Boyd leans his head against his shoulder. When Derek meets his gaze, he scowls, tapping on his wrist impatiently. Stiles holds up a finger; Derek huffs in response. Stiles manages a small smile, only allowing it to fall when Derek turns away. Sometimes he wonders if Derek felt lonely before they met. Derek doesn't do a lot of things for himself. He works, even though he doesn't have to, just so Stiles' dad will take his money, stays at home and runs errands whenever Stiles or Allison is too busy, and now here he is, sitting in a college campus, waiting for Stiles so they can go take one of their pups to the vet. "He doesn't really have a lot of people in his life," he finds himself saying, the truth of it making his chest feel uncomfortably tight. Derek could have another life, one that isn't built around duty and responsibility, but he doesn't.

When he turns back, Jessie has on that same contemplative look from when they first spoke. She looks back at Derek and back to Stiles, shifting back and forth on her feet before her lips turn up in a rueful smile as she twines her fingers together, taking a deep breath. 

"I like you," she says softly.

_What._ "...Me?" He croaks after a minute.

"Yeah," she says sheepishly before starting to ramble, "You didn't notice me in class, which was fine, whatever. Then my car broke down and I went to the mechanic's and saw you talking to Derek and apparently you went there a lot, so I thought maybe you'd notice me there and we'd start talking or something. But I saw you and Derek and I saw how he looked at you. When you weren't looking...," she trails off at the sight of the blank look on Stiles' face. "You don't know what I'm talking about."

He shakes his head numbly. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Derek already standing.

She opens her mouth but stops short. "He's coming," she states without even turning. Stiles tears his eyes away from her just as Derek arrives.

"We have to go," Derek says, giving Stiles a pointed look before turning to Jessie. "Sorry."

"It's fine." She gives Stiles a wobbly smile and a nod. "It's fine," she repeats, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm. "I'll see you later, Stiles. Derek."

"Yeah, I'll," he murmurs as she hurries away, "see you later." He turns to Derek, who glowers at her retreating back before turning on his heel and stalking away, Boyd in tow. Stiles casts one more glance toward Jessie before following, his forehead creased in thought.

_I saw how he looked at you._

"What did she say?"

Stiles blinks, quickly pulling himself out of his thoughts. "What?"

"She said something that's making you think."

"No, I was just...," he pauses, chewing on his lip. "Do you ever feel lonely? Or like you're missing something?"

Derek doesn't even miss a beat. "No."

"Not even a little? Like, you don't want to, I don't know -"

"I don't want a girlfriend, if that's what you're asking."

_Wait, can you elaborate on the "girl" part of that statement_ \- "Really? Not even a little?"

Derek sighs exasperatedly. "I've got a pack. I don't need one," he grunts. "Having a pack grounds me, gives me a sense of belonging. Not much else I want."

He glares and swats at Stiles' arm when Stiles nudges him in the side, a goofy grin on his face.

-

"Jessie told me she liked me," he admits during dinner.

Derek's frown deepens, his fork scraping against his plate. "Yeah."

"You knew?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "I knew she wasn't looking at me all those times."

"Huh." Stiles chews on a piece of steak. "That never happens."

"What?"

"People liking me."

Derek scowls. "Don't sell yourself short," he says, viciously stabbing at his own steak. "There are plenty of reasons people would be attracted to you."

Their eyes meet. Derek coughs, ducking his head to stare at his plate.

"Objectively." 

Stiles hides his smile by shoving some mashed potatoes into his mouth. 

"You were right about the dog thing," Stiles adds.

"Of course I was."

Stiles throws a green bean on Derek's plate. Derek eats it with relish. Stiles does not bring up what Jessie said.

-

Stiles does, however, decide to bring up the touching thing after his hands somehow end up on Derek's head, which in turn somehow ended up on his lap while they were watching Adventure Time.

"While this is very calming, probably for the both of us," Stiles tries to say casually, as casually as one can be when their hands are tangled in someone else's hair, "I have to wonder how we got here."

Learning from experience, he immediately holds Derek down before his instincts kick in and he gains enough momentum to get up and start running from his problems. Derek tries to glare but he just looks pouty with his cheek smushed against Stiles' thigh. 

"It's a wolf thing," Derek grumbles, like it's embarrassing to admit, though apparently not embarrassing enough to not do it. Like, did he honestly think that Stiles wasn't going to notice when he stuck his head inches from his crotch? "An old habit. It calms me down."

Stiles huffs out a laugh. "A wolf thing," he repeats, his fingertips absently rubbing into Derek's scalp. "You could've just admitted that you're a serial cuddler."

"You make me want to be a serial something else," Derek mutters, his eyes half-lidded. Stiles snickers as Derek futilely tries to fight off the head-scratching induced drowsiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No wolf!Derek antics this chapter, unfortunately :c I just got into a domestic!sterek mood and couldn't stop. Hopefully the next chapter will make up for it.
> 
> I'm thinking two more chapters, maybe an epilogue. We'll see how it goes!
> 
> Uh, this chapter was awkward to write. Hence, "Awkward". Also, Stiles says "what" a lot. I don't know why.


	5. Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles deals with his life's latest supernatural incident and feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd as always

If there's one thing that Stiles knows for certain, it's this. 

Ever since he met Derek, the moment he starts thinking nothing can surprise him anymore, the world will set off to prove him wrong.

-

"Allison has no class today....Dad's working late...Derek had work...," Stiles mumbles as he sluggishly pushes open the front door with his shoulder and kicks it shut, his eyes glued to his phone as he types out his to-do list. Pocketing his phone, he pauses in the foyer, rubbing his eyes. He tosses his keys on the side table, his gaze lingering on a photo hanging on the wall before he rubs his eyes again, sighing heavily.

"You can do this," he tells himself resolutely, straightening up and clenching his fists at his side. "You've made it this far."

He strides purposefully forward but stops short at the foot of the stairs. The television is on and there is a voice, not a TV voice but an actual voice, stranger yet, which sounds nothing like Derek. In fact, it's a female voice, which is  _definitely_  out of place. He looks down and executes a cursory twirl before staring suspiciously at the wall between him and the living room. 

Where are his pups?

Slowly, he back-pedals a few steps, stopping in the doorway of the living room.

And sees a head of red - no, strawberry blonde hair. A girl with strawberry blonde hair.

Stiles rears back a little before leaning forward again, confused. He's almost positive no one in Beacon Hills has hair like that, and he's definitely never seen this girl because he would remember seeing such a pretty girl around town but why does he have a feeling that he's _touched_ that hair before -

She notices him, interrupting his train of thought as she whips her head around and raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him, her full lips pursed. Then Stiles notices that beside her, there's a blonde-haired boy with some ridiculous cheekbones, his arm slung over her shoulder. The boy shoots him a cool glance over the girl's shoulder. _Oooh,_  Stiles thinks, _the douchebag is strong with this one._

Stiles racks his brain but no rational thought (Long-lost siblings? Aspiring models secretly convening at his house? Derek has started a cult without his knowledge?) can explain why these two strangers are sitting on his couch like they own it, watching - he shoots a quick glance at the television - NOVA? He didn't even know they had that channel.

"Uh," he says when he finds his voice. "Who are you and what are you doing in my house?"

The girl flashes him a smile. "Stiles," she greets pleasantly. "Welcome home." The guy doesn't say anything, only raises his eyebrows at him like he's unimpressed with everything about him. Stiles returns with his own judgemental look.

Wait, how does she know his name? Stiles stares and they stare back. He looks again at the girl's hair. He looks at the guy's face. He looks down at the still empty space around his feet. He narrows his eyes as a vague feeling of déjà vu washes over him. 

The hair -

That _expression_  -

Then it hits him, the recognition, _the resemblance_. His backpack falls off his shoulder and to the ground with a solid thunk. 

The smile on the girl's face widens.

 _No,_ he thinks numbly,  _you've got to be kidding me_. "Derek!" He shouts, not taking his eyes off of them, his voice rising in panic.

"Derek's out right now," the girl - Lydia, it's his pup,  _Lydia_ , he knew that fur, er, hair looked familiar - says with an amused lilt, her attention back to the television. "He should be back soon."

Stiles braces himself with a hand on the wall, making circular motions with his other hand in the mostly futile effort to remind himself to breathe. "Where are the others?" He asks in between breaths. If he were biologically equipped to give birth, he would probably have no problem going through with it with the sheer amount of deep breathing he's doing nowadays.

Jackson - of course it's Jackson because he still holds his head up like he thinks he's better than everyone - jabs his thumb toward the kitchen. Stiles tentatively steps forward and sees someone digging into the contents of his fridge.

Upon hearing Stiles walk into the kitchen, the person stops, their head poking out from the top of the refrigerator door. Oh, that mess of hair. Stiles knows that hair too.

"...Scott?" He calls faintly.

Scott straightens, beaming upon seeing him. Scott - his _canine best friend_ \- is a human. With human hair and a human face and human _everything_. It's - he can't believe it, it's just _unbelievable_ \-  "Stiles!" He shouts excitedly around a mouthful of peanut butter, jar in hand. 

"Oh my god, Scott, is it really y - oof!" Scott, in his excitement, rushes forward to tackle Stiles with a hug and Stiles, in his lingering shock and disbelief, is thrown off balance, taking them both down to the ground.

A shadow falls over Stiles as he tries to wiggle out of Scott's tight hug. "Don't kill him, Scott," a blonde-haired girl says from above him before being joined by two other boys, a smirking curly-haired boy and a grinning broad-shouldered boy.

Stiles stares at the three kids while trying to tap Scott on the shoulder - though, this is probably a lost cause because Scott probably doesn't understand the meaning of "tap-out" - "Erica, Isaac, Boyd?" They all smile widely at him. "I - wha -," he narrows his eyes, "why do you all have matching leather jackets?" And why are they all so painfully attractive?

There's probably some deity out there, Stiles thinks as he lets all this sink in, some deity he somehow angered who's bent on making his life difficult, like bequeathing him with his weakness for puppy eyes and adorable wagging tails or turning all the pups into people or, hey, sending a werewolf who looks like an underwear model to his doorstep in the not even innocuous form of an _actual wolf_.

Thankfully, before Stiles can start getting into the whole hyperventilating thing because this is like that night in the forest all over again except _six-fold_ , the aforementioned werewolf bursts in through the back door, out of breath, small twigs sticking out of his hair, t-shirt conspicuously missing. Derek runs his hands through his hair irritably, a cloud of dirt poofing out above him.

"What the hell is going on, Derek?" Stiles demands with as much authority as one can have while being snuggled to death by a teenager and ridiculed by three other ones. Derek immediately moves to grab Scott by the collar of his jacket, yanking him off of Stiles. "Seriously, what - just, what is all of this? Why is -," Stiles shoots a pained look at Derek's bare heaving chest, "- where is your shirt? I don't understand anything that's happening right now."

"Are you freaking out right now," Derek asks warily, helping Stiles get to his feet, his hand lingering on his arm. "Because I need you to not freak out right now."

"Am I - _am I freaking out_  -," Stiles smacks his hand away, "of course I'm _freaking out!_ " 

"Stiles -"

"All my dogs are people for god's sake and I am at least _300 fucking percent_ sure that they're not were-dogs or whatever -"

"Pretty sure we're not," Isaac quips from the kitchen counter as he sticks his hand into a bag of chips - his bag of chips, Stiles realizes idly, but quickly pushes to the back of his mind. "Not supposed to be, anyway."

"- like, I honestly _cannot comprehend_ why this always happens when you're home alone with the pups. Do magical creatures attract -, " Stiles gestures wildly at all the people in his house, "- weird shit like this?" He yells over Derek's indignant "I'm not a  _magical creature_ ", "Because I don't know if I can deal with this on a regular basis!"

"Stop, I hate it when Mommy and Daddy fight," Erica drawls from beside them.

"And -," Stiles shouts, ignoring her comment and wrenching the jar of peanut butter away from Scott and shaking it at Derek, "- I can't believe you let Scott into the peanut butter _again_! How many times, Derek? _He has a problem!_ "

Derek huffs, picking up his own leather jacket from where it was lying on the ground. "Well, I was just a little preoccupied," he snaps irritably, pulling it on - still wearing no t-shirt! -, to which Stiles wants to say _no_ because now he looks like some sort of biker stripper. 

"Oh yeah? What was more worthy of your attention than the pups turning into humans? Hm? Were you overcome with the urge to frolic in the forest?" Stiles retorts sarcastically, waving his hand at Derek's dirt-streaked jeans.

The expression on Derek's face is a mix of misery, exasperation and fear, but Stiles doesn't have room for sympathy on his current emotional palette. Derek sighs forcefully, scrubbing a hand over his face when Stiles raises his eyebrows at him, waiting impatiently for an explanation.  "I've been cursed," he finally says.

Stiles stares at Derek, who stares dejectedly back. He feels his lips twitch, wanting to turn up in a grin, and huffs out a laugh.

"Cursed," he echoes, like the notion is completely ridiculous. Because it should be. Because _it is._

"That's what I'm guessing. Hey," Derek says when Stiles lets out a half-crazed laugh, "when I went to the bathroom, they were all fine, and when I came back, suddenly there's six people in their place. I followed a scent to the backyard and saw someone climbing over the wall. I chased after them, but they disappeared halfway through the forest.

"Oh," Stiles says hollowly, nodding. "That makes sense."

Derek brightens a little. "Really?"

Is this guy for real. "Are you _kidding_ me?" Stiles cries hysterically. "Do you know how _unbelievable_ that sounds?"

"A lot of your life is unbelievable," Derek points out unhelpfully.

"Uh, even with the existence of werewolves set as my normal, a _witch_ coming _specifically to my house_ and cursing the _one_ werewolf in town is still not even remotely normal," Stiles rants before narrowing his eyes at him. "Did you do something to piss them off?"

Scoffing, Derek opens his mouth, as if offended, but no words come out. Stiles levels him with a look, to which Derek says, rather defensively, "Why do you always assume that I did something wrong?" 

"Mrs. Reynolds has never forgiven him for letting us step on her lawn," Scott supplies in hushed tones. Derek shoots him a dirty look.

"I can count on one hand the number of people you haven't snapped at." Then Stiles adds, trying not to sound too much like some sort of spurned lover, "And I don't even count."

Boyd nudges Derek. "He has a point."

"I'm thinking it's that jogger he totally blew off last week," Erica says, with Boyd nodding sagely beside her.

"What about the cashier at the store?" Isaac offers. "I think Derek made her cry."

Derek rolls his eyes. "I didn't make her _cry_ -"

"There was sniffling," Erica says significantly.

"It was probably the chick with the crush on Stiles," Jackson calls. "He just doesn't attract normal people."

"I still think it's Mrs. Reynolds -"

"Okay no, can we stop for a second," Stiles interrupts, gesturing at the pups - kids? Oh god, he has kids now, doesn't he? "What's this running commentary thing going on here?"

"They got that from you," Derek grunts. "I told you that they're impressionable. And with the way you speak to your father -"

"Excuse me, Sassy Mcsasspants, but I'm pretty sure you're the reason they shifted into humans wearing  _leather jackets._ "

"Better than your flannel," Lydia chimes in.

Stiles gapes at her before turning to Derek, who chortles a little, the jerk. "This is not okay," he determines. "This is like -," _dealing with six kids who are actually combinations of you and me oh my god the pups have become our love children_ , " - mutiny! You need to put them in their place!"

Derek looks away with a huff. "I can't."

"What?"

"They're not dogs anymore," he grumbles. "I can't -," he gestures vaguely at his eyes.

"Alpha them into submission," Stiles finishes dimly.

Derek scowls at his choice in words but nods begrudgingly. This would have been the perfect time for a "who's the Alpha now?", if not for the incredibly worrying fact that the pups are no longer hard-wired to obey anyone. And Derek has this incredibly helpless look on his face like he doesn't know what to do now that all his pups are people and it's a little painful to see that look on the face of a grown man.

Stiles looks around. The p - kids are not too subtly rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. He's pretty sure all of his junk food in the top cabinet is gone by now. Over in the living room, it looks like Lydia and Jackson are arguing. He used to think their little puppy fights were cute, but that was back when it was just barking and ear chewing.

"You honestly cannot catch a break," Stiles says to Derek with a heavy sigh. "Ever. It's actually amazing."

Derek's shoulders sag with resigned acceptance.

-

Moments after they order lunch - pizza and pasta -, the doorbell rings. "Talk about thirty minutes of less -," Stiles jokes before trailing off and looking to Derek, remembering, "Allison."

"Allison?" Stiles hears Scott repeat. Uh oh. He rushes to the door, but he's too late; Scott's already at the door, wrenching it open with the enthusiasm of, well, a puppy eager to see its owner.

Allison blinks with surprise at Scott. Stiles can't see Scott's face but he imagines it's the same face he always makes when he sees Allison, minus the out of control tail wagging, and - did she just check him out? "Hey," she greets hesitantly.

"Hi," Scott replies, tone breathy and love-struck. 

Stiles shares a look with Derek, who jerks his head at them with a sense of urgency. _No need to tell me twice_ , he thinks as he marches over to them, like a parent set on separating their child from the neighborhood hooligan. _This is all kinds of wrong_. Hah, what a hypocritical thought.

"Allison," Stiles says hurriedly as he moves to wedge himself between them to pull her into the house, "hi, so we've got a bit of a situation."

Allison finally tears her gaze from Scott, her lips turned up in a smile - a smile that Stiles did not want to see on her face - and looks around the unusually crowded dining room. It takes roughly two seconds for her to realize who she's looking at. "Oh wow, is that - huh," she breathes with awe, executing several double takes before asking, "what happened?"

"A witch is what happened," Stiles answers tiredly. "Cursed Derek and somehow," he sweeps his hand in a wide arc, "this happens."

"A curse, huh?" Allison says, grabbing her list of errands off the fridge. "Might wanna talk to Deaton about that."

"Deaton," Stiles questions, baffled. "Like the vet? That Deaton?" He instinctively looks to Derek. "For what?"

"Yeah, he knows a thing or two about magic," Derek says, sheepish. "Did I forget to mention that?"

Stiles shoots him a disbelieving look. "Yeah," he says sarcastically as he digs his phone out of his pocket, "I think you forgot to mention that minor detail." He sighs, turning around. "Seriously, does everyone around me know about this stuff?" He mutters, more to himself. "Next someone'll be telling me that my dad - you know what, don't." He waves his hand over his shoulder before anyone can respond, holding the phone to his ear. "I can't deal with three life-breaking events in the span of one year."

\-  

"From the sparse details you were able to provide," Stiles can hear the snark clearly over the phone, "I can tell you that it's a relatively harmless curse. It may have been intended to have more power and parameters, but Derek most likely scared them off before they could complete the spell. You could hunt down the witch and get them to lift it immediately, but that's more effort than it's worth, really. The curse will probably only last a day."

Stiles turns away, avoiding Derek's "and you bitch at me for doing the right thing" look over the towers of pizza and pasta boxes. "So that's it. We don't know what it is and we just wait it out." 

"Look on the bright side." Stiles waits expectantly for the good news. "You get to talk to your dogs for a day."

"But he already talks to us," Scott calls from the dining room, blatantly eavesdropping. Stiles is impressed that Scott can manage to multitask, seeing as how enamored he is by Allison.

"Yeah, but now we might answer," Lydia says, before adding thoughtfully, "and he'll seem like less of a crazy dog person."

Stiles' forehead falls on the refrigerator door. "Thanks guys," he mutters flatly.

"Sounds like they have a lot of insight to share with you," Deaton says, not even bothering to conceal the amusement in his voice. Stiles almost wants to accuse _him_ of being the witch.

"I like you better as a vet," Stiles grumbles. Judging by Deaton's laugh, he probably shares the sentiment. 

Stiles hangs up, sighing. This must be what it's like to be an actual parent. All he wants to do is hide under his covers and sleep and pray that this is an elaborate prank or a scarily realistic dream but the kids were getting restless and hungry and he's afraid Derek is going to snap and resort to some illegal child management methods.

"I'm just saying," Derek says when Stiles returns after the kids have fought with each other for their share of lunch - he had heard what suspiciously sounded like something breaking and told himself not to think about it to save himself the headache -, "I'm not opposed to the idea of locking them in a room for a day."

Case in point. "Sometimes I'm amazed by how unhelpful you are," Stiles says tiredly, scraping the last bits of food onto his plate. 

Just when he thought the kids would finally settle down for at least half an hour, the moment Stiles finally gets to the dining table, Jackson speaks up and says, in a demanding tone that is uncannily similar to the one Stiles' hypothetical Jackson voice always has, "I want to go see Danny."

Stiles casts a withering look to Derek, who sits down at the other end of his table, holding up his hands in the "I'm not touching this one" gesture. He sets his plate down with a clatter before responding curtly, "No." He sits, letting out a sigh of relief, pointedly ignoring Jackson's glare.

"I'll ask him out on a date," Jackson counter-offers, clearly having planned this all out. 

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You're not his type," he says around a mouthful of spaghetti.

Jackson scoffs. "I'm everybody's type."

Stiles snorts, hoping that it will knock Jackson's ridiculously inflated ego down a few pegs. "Answer's still no," he says firmly, jabbing his fork at Jackson. "Shut up and eat your food."

"Oooh, shut down," Erica taunts, twirling her spaghetti on her fork. Jackson makes a face at her, which she returns.

"So what are we going to do today?" Scott asks.

Hooo boy. Stiles takes a giant bite of pizza, chewing slowly as the kids look at him expectantly, mostly to buy time because he has no idea what they're going to do. He doesn't want them to start getting stir-crazy if he makes them stay home like they do when he has to put them behind the doggy fence and he can't take them to the mall because he's bound to see someone from school and they might ask questions about the brigade of attractive people he has in tow. His gaze drifts to Derek, who actually doesn't look completely lost and helpless for once since Stiles saw him today. Derek slowly chews and swallows a bite of food.

"We could go to the park," Derek suggests. 

"The park?" Jackson sneers. "What are we, five - ow!"

Lydia removes her elbow from Jackson's ribs. "Sounds like a good idea," she says amiably. Stiles feels a burst of pride.

"Dude, does that mean we can play lacrosse?" Scott says excitably.

"We're probably going to need more food," Boyd states dryly.

"I'm going to nap," Lydia says. "Bring towels."

Stiles feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. A small one, but a weight nonetheless. As the kids chat amongst themselves, he looks at Derek, who's returned to eating quietly. "Can I have another meatball?" Isaac asks Derek. Derek wordlessly picks up his plate and rolls all of his meatballs onto Isaac's plate. He scowls at the gooey grin on Stiles' face. 

-

"This feels illegal," Stiles remarks as he and Derek walk back to their cars with bags of food, paid for courtesy of the Beacon Hills community donation box.

Derek shrugs. "If it makes you feel any better, you're technically still feeding the same beings." 

As their cars come into view, Stiles sees Scott asleep in the front seat of the Jeep, only to be jolted awake when Erica flicks him in the ear, Isaac snickering beside her. In the Camaro, Boyd grins while Jackson looks on with mild amusement and Lydia rolls her eyes. "Yeah, you're right. Just less adorable and more mouthy and annoying."

Derek lets out a snort, unlocking his car and placing all his bags in the trunk. "Oh my god, just give those to me," he says exasperatedly after watching Stiles struggle to dig his keys out of his pocket with two bags in each hand for the past two minutes. 

Stiles mutters a thanks as Derek takes the bags from him and puts them with the others. "Alright, I'll see you there?"

Derek shuts the trunk. "Yeah."

Stiles feels an odd tug, a weird sort of unstoppable pull, like there's something he's supposed to do, but in the back of his mind, he knows he's not really supposed to do. Nevertheless, he puts his hand on Derek's arm and leans forward, thinking that maybe he's forgotten to tell Derek something -

He stops short when he realizes what  _exactly_  he was about to do. And apparently Derek was about to do the same.

They take stock of their positions and jump back, exchanging confused looks because they're not - because even though it feels like they're a couple of parents taking their kids to the park, they're _not_ -

Stiles flushes. "I uh - oh god, sorry -"

Derek shakes his head. "It's - no, it's fine, not -"

"Uh," Stiles jabs his thumb at his car, "I'm just gonna -"

"Yeah," Derek repeats, turning away quickly to get into his own car.

Stiles ignores the look Lydia shoots him from the backseat of Derek's car and hurries into his own car. He stabs his key in the general direction of the ignition, his face burning.

"Was that what I thought it was?" Isaac says slyly, leaning forward. 

"You think nothing," Stiles affirms, miraculously still possessing the motor skills to get the car to start.

"Oh, it definitely was," Erica says gleefully. "Awww our daddies are so cute, giving each other goodbye ki -"

"Hey, let's play a game," Stiles interrupts - because if she says it, that means acknowledging that it happened, which is not okay - as he pulls out of the parking space. "It's called 'No one talks until we get to the park'. Winners get to eat today."

Erica sits back in the seat, crossing her arms, smug but mercifully silent. Meanwhile, Stiles mulls over what happened, replaying it over and over again in his head, trying to figure out what the hell he was thinking. _Possession_ , he thinks. _Possibly drugs._

Before Stiles can start down his slippery slope, he hears, "So, are you and Derek gonna take this opportunity to do the dirty on your bed tonight?

_What._

He nearly drives into a divider when he twists around to snap at Erica but thankfully, Scott grabs and steadies the wheel in the nick of time. "Okay, number one, you totally lost the game -"

"I'm still going to eat," she says matter-of-factly.

True. "- number two, I don't like how your statement implies that we've had sex before." Erica stares blankly at him. "Because we haven't!"

She raises an eyebrow. "You can't be serious," she says, incredulous.

"I have never been more serious in my life." Because if he and Derek were together, he'd be all over that, all the time. 

She jerks forward, wedging herself in between him and Scott, her face a picture of total disbelief. "You smell like him _constantly_. It's like he's _this_ close to straight up peeing a circle around you."

Stiles struggles with his response because how bad is it that he's actually a little touched by that? 

"Then there's the looks," Isaac adds. He even waggles his eyebrows a little bit. Ugh, this is terrible. They all totally inherited Derek's eyebrow communication too.

He wants to bang his head on the steering wheel. "W-What are these 'looks' everyone talks about? I don't -"

Isaac counts off on his fingers. "Loaded, lingering, adoring, the list goes on, really -"

_Adoring?_

"And the sexual tension," Scott groans, the traitor. "I've literally been in the middle of it for months."

"I can't right now," Stiles says, emotionally and maybe even a little physically pained. "I just, no."

"Seriously, I thought you guys just did it somewhere else or something, like in the car," Erica continues, sniffing perfunctorily for good measure because she's a terrible person. "Seeing as how you never want to expose us to anything 'explicit'. Which is ridiculous, seeing as how we're already like 5 years old." Then she adds, after a bit of thought, "In dog years. So we're actually middle-aged."

"Blatant lies, you guys are like 17 at most -"

"Man, this is like finding out that my parents aren't actually married," Isaac says dejectedly. 

"- again, I am _at least_  like four years older than you -"

"You guys are at least together, right?" Scott says, fully aware of Stiles' misery, judging by his shit-eating grin. "Derek always told us that we're a pack and he's definitely not my Alpha sooo logically -"

Stiles decides it would be wiser to say absolutely nothing. Just to annoy him, the kids lament their apparently broken family unit all the way to the park.

-

Thankfully, his trio lets up by the time they meet up with Derek, who tasks the kids with carrying all the food and finding a nice secluded place to set up their things.

"Rough drive?" Derek asks when Stiles approaches him, ears still ringing from all the whining.

"You have no idea," Stiles mutters, glaring at the back of Erica's head.

"I might," Derek grumbles darkly as he does the same with Lydia.

Stiles spends the day playing with the kids, getting to know them. Scott is intensely fixated with lacrosse, which probably explains why he used to chew up his lacrosse stick. Erica's afraid of heights but it doesn't stop her from chasing Boyd up a tree. Boyd is apparently his father's confidante and no amount of threats can convince him to disclose any information. Lydia submits a request to start leaving the TV on more educational channels ("You wouldn't believe the amount of reality TV Derek watches."), Isaac admits that he's the one who's been digging all the holes in the backyard and, to no one's surprise, Jackson reminds him that he's a loser.

A few hours later, he lays out a towel in the shade and unceremoniously collapses on it, groaning as he stretches. Earlier, Allison came by with more lacrosse equipment borrowed from school and so now she, most of the kids, and Derek, who's attempting to referee and properly explain the rules, are embroiled in an intense game of lacrosse. He laughs a little at Derek's clear exasperation. For the first time since he came home today, Stiles breathes a little easier.

"Mates," Lydia says from where she's lying beside him. 

Stiles tears his gaze away from Derek, who just smacked Jackson on the head with the stick for tackling Scott, before uttering distractedly, "What?"

Lydia leans up on her forearms, brushing a leaf off her shoulder. "Wolves mate for life."

Now Stiles can hazard a guess as to why Derek looked positively miserable when he got out of the car. "Derek's not an actual wolf," he points out wryly.

Lydia plops back down, this time against Stiles' shoulder, placing Stiles' arm over her stomach. "Humans can mate for life too, technically. Being a werewolf makes it doubly true for him."

Stiles quirks a grin. "I don't think that logic is sound."

"It's not," Lydia admits. "But it's sentimental and romantic."

Stiles laughs, ruffling her hair. They both fall silent in favor of watching Derek aggressively attempt to enforce the boundaries of the field. "Derek must be a stern wolf parent to you guys," Stiles comments with amusement.

"He's really not," Lydia sighs, like she's taking pity on Derek. "He tries not to rely on his Alpha growl but without it, he's the biggest softie. We practically bully him sometimes. I think he's trying to improve though." She shrugs. "Or he's just really passionate about lacrosse."

He tries not to laugh too loud, his sides aching from keeping it in. The mental image of his puppies ganging up on Derek is absolutely precious and also weirdly easy to imagine.

"He does it for you, y'know. So you don't have to worry about us," Lydia says quietly. "He loves you."

Talk about mood whiplash. Stiles exhales, his heart skipping, and wrinkles his nose. "Well, he does puts up with me," he jokes.

She smiles a little, sighing. "Not in the same way we do."

Stiles blinks up at the clear sky. In the distance, Derek shouts "Offsides goddammit!" and the kids' laughter fills the air. "I know."

Lydia settles back against his shoulder, her hand on his. Stiles lets out another breath and closes his eyes. It's a nice day today. Warmer than it usually is, this time of year.

-

It soon becomes evident that Lydia's not the only one with an opinion on his relationship with Derek.

"You guys are good together," Scott says sincerely after they return home and have dinner, Chinese takeout, ordered by Derek. He shoots at Stiles' character on the screen. "We all think so. Even Jackson. He thinks Derek makes you less bitchy."

Stiles swears as his character dies onscreen. "Yeah, this isn't the conversation I imagined we would be having," he says bluntly, mashing the respawn button rapidly. Thank god Lydia dragged Derek out to get ice cream.

"I mean, he can be a real jerk sometimes, but you can be a real jerk too and so it kinda all works out," Scott continues. "You make each other better, somehow."

"You know what we should talk about?" Stiles says. "You and Allison. What's going on there?"

Scott glances over at Allison, who's, surprisingly, talking pleasantly with Erica, and falls silent, his expression thoughtful and serious. "I think I love her." He nods firmly. "Pretty sure."

"You're a _dog_."

Scott's character falls off a building. "You really know how to hurt a guy when he's down."

Stiles pats Scott on the back. "Sorry bud."

"It's alright." Then he pauses, furrowing his brow. "Hey, pot calling the kettle black, bro. You're in love with a dude who used to be your pet wolf -"

"Oh my god." Stiles shoves Scott, who laughs as he shoves back.

"But seriously," Scott says, setting down the controller. "You guys could work, now. Maybe not before, in the beginning, but he's changed. You've changed."

Stiles sets down his own controller, scratching the back of his neck. He doesn't respond, doesn't really know how.

"You deserve to be happy," Scott says softly, earnestly, after a brief silence. "I want you to be. You know that, right?"

Stiles gives pause. A few months ago, he wouldn't have been able to say what he's about to say. "Yeah, I know," he finally manages to say. He gives Scott a small smile, adding, "To both."

Scott puts his hand on Stiles' shoulder, beaming. "Good."

-

Stiles ends up clearing out the middle of the living room and dumping every pillow and blanket in the house there in some sort of makeshift nest. By bedtime, the kids are burnt out and on the verge of a food coma, so they all give Stiles a hug, some enthusiastic, some begrudging, bid their good nights and sleepily crawl under the blankets to promptly fall dead asleep.

The layout is more or less the same, except Scott had ditched him to go cuddle with Allison. He would be okay with it, if not for the fact that Derek has decided to lie down beside him. Not even shifted. Just, human, with his dumb face and his dumb body in his dumb tank top and his dumb wrench-patterned pajama pants that Stiles got for him as a gag gift. 

"What are you doing," Stiles says flatly as Derek wraps the blanket around him. They're, like barely half a foot away from each other.

Derek makes a show of looking around before shrugging nonchalantly. "Everyone else is doing it."

"If my dad sees us like this, he will definitely flip. There might be bullets involved."

Derek sets his head on the pillow with a resolute plop. "I'll take my chances. I saved him a meat lover's pizza from lunch."

"Terrible," Stiles hisses, immediately dragging his blanket up to his chin and turning away from Derek's cheeky grin as to eliminate the possibility of a repeat of whatever it was that happened in the parking lot earlier today. He reaches up and turns off the lamp before closing his eyes and listening to the kids snore and mutter in their sleep.

-

He can't sleep. Never does, this time of year.

Around him, the kids are still kids, still asleep. He shifts, rolling onto his back. Even in the darkness, he can just barely catch the faint moonlight reflecting from Derek's eyes. He would make a joke, something about being a creeper, something about moonlight and werewolf eyes, but he doesn't. He doesn't look away, but he doesn't say anything.

"Normally, you would be talking by now," he hears Derek say quietly after a few minutes of closing his eyes and trying, again, to fall asleep.

Stiles exhales softly. "I didn't think you guys knew what I was saying, before," he eventually says, voice hoarse.

"We were listening," Derek says. "I was listening."

Stiles swallows, throat tight. "You were good with them, today," he admits. "The park was a good call."

Derek shrugs. "Lucky guess. They usually just need enough open space to run around until they get tired and need me to carry them home."

Stiles huffs out a laugh. "Today could've gone terribly wrong. I kinda expected it to. Not from you, most of the time," he quickly adds, grinning at Derek's scowl. "Just, life in general."

"They're good, the kids," Derek says. "A rowdy bunch of smart asses," he shoots Stiles a pointed look, "but good."

"Good," Stiles echoes. "That's good." 

Silence settles over them. Stiles breathes slowly, steadily, his chest tightening, counting his breaths until he forces himself to get the words out of his mouth. "This morning, I went. To, y'know -"

"Yeah."

"I took -," his breath catches in his throat.

"Lilies," Derek finishes for him. "I know."

He exhales sharply. "It's weird how today turned out. Mom always loved kids. She used to say that me and Scott were enough to deal with." He looks around at the kids.  "But she would've liked today."

"My family would've liked it too," Derek says softly. Stiles feels a hand on his, warm and comforting, and it makes him want to just let it all go. He closes his eyes, his heart clenching because it never stops hurting, it never becomes less, and he can never forget, never, because this was his mother but -

"You lost your whole family," Stiles croaks. "I just -"

"Don't," Derek says firmly. "That doesn't make your loss trivial. It hurts all the same."

It's enough. His hand tightens around Derek's. 

"I miss her," he whispers brokenly. 

Derek squeezes his hand. "I know. It's okay."

He doesn't let go the whole night.

-

_It's been a while since I told you about Derek, Mom. I - he's a good guy. I wish you could've met him._

-

Stiles wakes up to see a bunch of excited puppies crowding around him, Allison still knocked out under a pile of blankets, and a note tucked in his hand.

_Stiles, we should play lacrosse again one day :) and Derek, you're still not my alpha - Scott_  
 _Thanks for taking me in. I'm glad it was you. - Isaac_  
 _Me too - Boyd_  
 _Yeah, thanks for taking my crazy ass in! - Erica_  
 _thanks - Jackson_  
 _Don't forget what I told you. And no reality television. - Lydia_

He puts it into his pocket as the pups snuffle at him, poking their wet noses at his face. Stiles smiles, scratching their ears, rubbing their bellies. It's a little bittersweet; they're still the same pups, but even though they were a bit of a handful, it was nice to have a bunch of people around.

"I wonder if we'll ever know why you were cursed," Stiles says to a sleep-mussed Derek. "Or what you were cursed with."

Derek smiles a little. "Yeah," he murmurs as Isaac pads over to him, tail wagging. "I'm starting to suspect maybe it wasn't a curse at all."

It feels easy, comfortable, just lying beside each other, surrounded by their pups, content. Feels like belonging, feels like this is how it should be.

But Stiles feels like things are different now, between him and Derek. Like they've started something they can't stop and all they can do is wait to see what happens next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM  
> SO SORRY FOR THIS SUPER LATE UPDATE /o\  
> human!pups was just surprisingly hard to write  
> I'M SORRY  
> I HOPE IT WASN'T TERRIBLE  
> IF IT WAS, PLEASE TELL ME IN THE COMMENTS


	6. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles thinks about how different they are and how involved they are in each other's lives.

Stiles has spent a good portion of the past year trying to define what he and Derek are and the only definite conclusion he has come to is that he and Derek are a thing. Since meeting, they haven't dated anyone - "Trying to keep the house clean and in one piece is a commitment in and of itself," Derek had remarked wryly after Stiles had, in a very roundabout manner, again asked if he was thinking of dating -, which is both a blessing and curse to Stiles because while that means he can ponder upon their relationship a little longer, he also doesn't really know if Derek means that he doesn't want to date at all or, optimistically, he is, in a very roundabout manner, saying that this thing they have is actually a relationship. 

So, in short, maybe they're not yet officially a couple, maybe not ~ soulmates ~, but they're a _thing_. They are a unit, a collective, an inseparable pair, maybe not really by choice, but out of habit. They do stuff together because it's natural, because it's easy, like taking care of the pups together, going grocery shopping together, _making decisions_ together -

"You said yes?" Stiles cries with indignation and disbelief, dropping his knife after nearly cutting off his finger. Derek wisely says nothing, carrying on with his own chopping until Stiles finishes fuming.

"Yes to what?" The sheriff asks from where he's looking over a case file on the kitchen table, curious about the fuss.

Stiles emphatically grabs and dumps a bunch of lettuce into the soup pot, eyes still locked on the profile of Derek's stupid stoic and traitorous face. "Hunting down a homicidal werewolf with the Argents," he bites out. Like, what part of that entire sentence sounds even remotely like a good idea?

"Nope," is all his father immediately says in reply as he returns his attention back to the file, downing his drink. "I didn't hear that." Derek had made the sheriff promise that he would stay out of any supernatural incidents - after all, he can't arrest werewolves and he's really not keen on working outside the law and stopping them like the hunters do - , but understandably, it's hard for the sheriff to turn a blind eye to all of it.

"And it's already killed three people? Are you serious? Are you really going to do it?" He asks incredulously, his tone demanding an answer. "I mean, killer werewolf aside, while I'm not saying that Mr. Argent would shoot you in the back given the chance -"

Derek silences Stiles with a look when he turns to deposit the rest of the vegetables into the soup. Stiles taps his foot impatiently, gaze drilling into the side of Derek's head, until Derek sets his hands on the edge of the counter, sighing. "Innocent people are dying because of this rogue omega," he finally replies. "While the Argents' track record isn't particularly flawless, vendettas aside, their intentions are good. And they asked for my help and you know how hard that is for them."

"I don't even think I should be in this room," his father mutters with his glass against his forehead. Stiles ignores him.

"Listen, while I wholeheartedly support you holding it over their heads that they asked you for help, I do not support at all you hunting a killer _with a bunch of other killers_."

Derek shrugs like it's no big deal, which is literally the complete opposite of what it is. "As much as I hate to say it, they're professionals at this. They know what they're doing."

Professionals at _hunting werewolves like you_. Unbelievable, this guy. "Look at you, Mr. Brightside," Stiles grumbles, suddenly hating the weird situational optimism that Derek has gradually adopted over the past few months. He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring into space as Derek patiently waits for his inevitable response. "Can I come with you?"

His dad shoots him a pained look, but says nothing. "No," Derek says immediately, turning his attention back to the soup. "I don't want to put you in danger."

"What," Stiles throws his arms out angrily, "so you're allowed to go and put yourself in front of a killer werewolf?"

Derek gives him a look that says "yes", which coincidentally also says to Stiles, "please punch me in the face". "I'll be fine," Derek says in what he must think is a reassuring tone, but there is no reassuring going on because it is completely unconvincing. "They just want me to help track it. Besides, they outnumber it even without me."

"Yeah but -," _what if you get hurt, what if you_ die _, I don't want you to go out and risk your life, I don't want you to be alone out there_. Stiles scrambles for an excuse but finds nothing that doesn't make him sound like either a fussy mother or a painfully lovesick teenager. He settles for a "I don't trust them."

"Me neither," Derek agrees with an unhappy sigh. "But what choice do I have?"

Stiles hates it when Derek's kinda right. But it doesn't take the edge of anxiety off, doesn't ease the way the bottom of his stomach can't seem to settle.

-

"You should go to the party tonight," Derek says a little awkwardly just before he leaves to meet Mr. Argent. Clearly, he's forgotten that he's not supposed to eavesdrop on Stiles' phone conversations, or at the very least, he's supposed to pretend he can't eavesdrop on Stiles' phone conversations.

Regardless, Stiles scoffs. _Talk about non-sequiturs_. "Yeah Derek, I should totally go and get wasted while you go and get yourself mauled," he deadpans from where he's standing in the doorway as the pups whimper unceasingly from behind their fence in the background. Derek scowls, with Stiles returning with one of his own; after all, it's not him who's upsetting the pups.

"I just think that you should go out with your friends," Derek says, shrugging on his jacket. "It - you deserve to have some time to yourself. Not dealing with," he gestures vaguely around him, "all of this."

Stiles notices the strangely guarded look on Derek's face. "I'll decide that for myself," he grunts in reply, wrinkling his nose and scuffing his shoe against the ground. Derek frowns at him.

"Don't -," Derek takes one look at Stiles' face and lets out a soft sigh, his shoulders sagging, "I'm going to come back."

Stiles likes to think that he's pretty good at masking his emotions but with Derek, it's really a lost cause; he's pretty much an open book to him. "Just don't make a widow out of me," he tries to say casually, flippantly, like a joke, but it comes out cold and raw. He lowers his eyes to the ground, feeling Derek's eyes on him. He doesn't raise them until he hears footsteps fading away and even then, he fidgets uneasily, watching Derek's back. 

He forgets sometimes, that Derek is a werewolf. That there's a whole world that Derek knows about, a world that's a part of him and not a part of Stiles. Stiles has never had to worry about Derek, not like this, not when disaster used to be equated to something happening to the pups, not when what Stiles used to (realistically, meaning aside from a fantastical scenario involving biker gangs seeking revenge) worry about most was Derek hitting his head on a car door one too many times at work. 

He's never really faced the possibility of losing Derek. It never came across as something that could happen, as something that would happen.

"Derek," he finds himself blurting, his legs moving as if they have a mind of their own until he stops a little ways from Derek. He sees the expression on Derek's face, open and vulnerable, and Stiles wishes he could say it, just say something to make him stay, _I'm not going to stand by and let you get yourself hurt in a fight that isn't yours_. He swallows, shaking out his hands nervously before balling them into tight fists. "I've got a really bad feeling about this," he says instead.

Stiles can tell that Derek's trying not to worry him. "I'll be fine," Derek repeats firmly, adding in a small smile. "I'll be home before you know it.

His fingers brush against Stiles' hand briefly before he turns and leaves. Stiles listens to Scott howl sadly behind him as he shivers in the night breeze, watching Derek go, feeling suspiciously like he's in some kind of terrible romantic drama.

-

As if it weren't obvious, he doesn't want to go to the party. Sure, they were fun, at first, but after a few of them, he found that dealing with drunk people and ultimately waking up somewhere smelling like alcohol and vomit got old real fast.

But after an hour of the pups alternating between pacing restlessly and pawing urgently at him - even Jackson is looking disapprovingly at him - and another hour of trying to watch television - and of course there's a fucking wolf documentary on -, he decides it's better than staying home, stewing in his increasing worry.

"I'm going out," he announces glumly to his dad as he grabs his jacket. His dad comes over as he's shoving his feet into his shoes.

Stiles is already checking his phone when his dad asks cautiously, "Any word from Derek?" He shakes his head and his dad sighs. "You know you don't have to go if you're not up for it."

"I know," Stiles says, getting his shoes on with a final stomp. "I just need to take my mind off of it."

His dad watches him with an observant gaze before nodding understandingly, apparently deciding to keep whatever it is he thinks to himself. "Well, be careful. Keep me updated."

Stiles nods with a weak smile. "Yeah. Thanks, dad."

Driving usually calms him down, but not tonight. He's itching with anxiety and heavy with discomfort. His finger taps rapidly against the steering wheel at every traffic light and he has to make a conscious effort not to drive toward the Preserve. That is, until his phone goes off.

Immediately pulling over, he grabs his phone off the dashboard and answers without looking. "Hello?" He breathes, heart already racing.

He hears leaves rustling and shouting for a while before a voice cuts in, panting, "Stiles." It's Mr. Argent.

"Mr. Argent?" Stiles says, panicked. "What's going on?"

"Derek -," a roar cuts through in the background, "- _lay down some covering fire_ \- he's turning - if you're - you need -"

Stiles presses the phone closer to his ear, brows furrowed. "I - I can't hear you clearly, you're cutting out -"

"Threatened - get home now -," then the call ends. Stiles stares at his phone, jaw clenched.

He turns the Jeep around.

-

"Ohhh my god, this is a bad idea," Stiles hisses to himself as he throws the car into park in front of Derek's old house. "This is a colossally bad idea, what the hell are you even _doing_." He kicks the door open and opens the trunk, brandishing his barely-used steering wheel lock. He stares out into the darkness, trying to measure out his uneven breaths. 

The omega is out there, too much for the hunters to handle, judging by that phone call. And Derek -

Stiles doesn't want to think about what might've happened to Derek. But he has to find him. 

"This is so stupid," he mutters to himself as he sets off into the forest, his eyes darting left and right, listening for anything but his own heartbeat. "Easily one of the worst decisions ever made in history." His body is pumping with adrenaline and his brain is telling him _go back, go back, run run run_ , but he keeps going forward, one foot after the other, deeper into the forest.

He's never really been rational when Derek's involved. The guy drives him nuts.

"Heh, guess I'm just crazy about him," Stiles laughs quietly at his own joke, which is the first mistake of the night, because in three seconds flat, the forest erupts with noise, rapid pounding footsteps and snarling, and Stiles finds himself pinned under a very unhappy werewolf, a pair of golden eyes staring down at him and a set of snapping teeth uncomfortably close to his throat.

"Look who I've found," the omega says with a grin, nostrils flaring. God, he smells foul. "That alpha's human -"

"Fuck your monologues!" Stiles shouts, swinging the wheel lock and jamming it into the omega's ribs, quickly rolling out from under him as the omega howls with pain. Recovering, the omega slowly stands, chest heaving. Stiles watches the blood drip from his various wounds. Looks like Derek's handiwork, judging by the claw and bite marks.

"Oh, I'm going to enjoy killing you, kid," he growls hatefully as he slowly circles Stiles. Stiles follows his movements, flexing his hand around the handle of the wheel lock, breathing shakily. 

"Where is he?" Stiles demands, voice coming out unsteady. "Where's the alpha?"

The omega's bone-chilling laugh cuts through the quiet of the forest. He sounds like he should be committed. "How precious. You worried about your alpha? You, a weak human kid? If this is his pack," he spits the word out with disgust, "maybe I did him a favor then."

_No, he can't have_ \- "What the hell are you talking about?"

The omega lets out another huff of laughter. "You think I look like shit?" He gestures at his wounds with a demented grin. "You should see him."

Stiles grips the wheel lock tightly, his knuckles white, anger rising from his stomach. The omega hurt Derek, who's god knows where, and all Stiles wants to do is beat the shit out of him, even the hunters who were supposed to protect him, _himself_ for not -

Not being here when he should have been.

Seeing Stiles faltering, the omega lunges and Stiles barely manages to block, swinging the wheel lock out in a wide arc with a shout, but the omega immediately ducks under and follows up with a slash, mostly catching clothes but managing to pierce Stiles' skin, and then elbows him hard in the head. The wheel lock falls out of Stiles' hands as he hits the ground hard, head spinning and chest stinging with pain as blood seeps slowly from the long but shallow wound. The omega kicks the wheel lock away before moving to kick Stiles in the face.

"Pathetic," the omega says disdainfully as he stands over Stiles, claws out. Stiles groans, struggling to get up, to scramble away, but he's disoriented from the pain, his vision blurry, barely aware of the blood running down his broken nose. The omega puts his foot on his chest, easily anchoring him in place but Stiles still tries to get away, doing anything he can, panting as he kicks out his feet, trying to push him off.

Because he's not going to die. Not like this. Not for Derek to find, not for his father either. He's not going to put them through that kind of pain again.

"You'll pay for kicking me in the face, asswipe," Stiles chokes out, blood dripping into his mouth. The omega's mouth twists into an ugly sneer and he raises his hand, ready to finish him off, and Stiles doesn't close his eyes, doesn't prepare because _he's not going to die_ -

A ferocious roar shakes the forest as another figure - Derek, it must be Derek, he hopes it's Derek - comes barreling out of the woods and tackles the omega off of Stiles, taking him down to the ground. Stiles rolls onto his side, coughing, and he can't see what's happening, but he can hear them fighting, sharp yelps of pain jumping out of the steady snarling, followed by shouting, the cocking of guns.

"Wait for a clear shot!" He hears Mr. Argent shout above the struggling werewolves before a single shot rings out, followed by a solid thump, the sound of a body falling to the ground.

Growling, punctuated with quiet deliberate movements. Mr. Argent saying quietly, stay back. Then, he sees -

"Derek," he breathes with relief.

Derek really is worse for wear, covered in deep gouge marks, his shirt almost entirely stained with blood, but he's alive. He's half-shifted, his teeth nice and pointy, his face all furry and wolf-y. Stiles doesn't see him like this often. He idly remembers joking to Derek that he looked like a TV show werewolf, with prosthetic make-up and everything. Stiles clings to his shoulders as Derek carefully helps him sit up and watches Derek look down at the gash on his chest with a low disapproving rumble. Stiles allows himself a half-smile; it reminds him of Derek's wolf days. "I'm fine," he tries to reassure Derek, who's inspecting his various injuries with increasing unhappiness. Stiles rolls his eyes when Derek swats his hand away and continues to huff angrily at Stiles' wounds, as if that'll make them go away.

He almost forgets about the hunters until he hears something click. Narrowing his eyes at Derek one more time, he cranes his neck to look at the hunters.

Who now have their guns trained on Derek.

Stiles instinctively moves to put himself between the guns and Derek, but Derek is having none of it, pushing Stiles back down and crouching protectively over him as he growls at the hunters. "What the hell is going on?" Stiles demands, looking to Mr. Argent, who steps forward, his gun also raised.

"Derek turned hostile to all of us," he explains, his eyes hardened. "Even started attacking some of us. That's why I called you, to warn you."

"What happened?"

"He found the omega, spent some time trying to get it to submit. He managed to chase it off, but not before the omega managed to -"

Stiles gingerly peels back a part of Derek's shredded shirt to see a full set of still-bleeding claw marks that run around almost his entire torso. Now that he looks at them - God, it's like he was nearly _disemboweled_. As Mr. Argent talks, he thinks back to what Deaton had told him once, his blood running cold when he remembers. "Is Derek...," his gaze jerks up to Derek's face, the fur on the sides still thick, "is he turning feral?"

Mr. Argent nods grimly. Stiles' stomach drops. Derek doesn't seem to be following the conversation at all. "And if we don't do something," Mr. Argent continues, "he'll start killing, just like that omega."

Stiles swallows, his mouth suddenly dry as his grip on Derek tightens. Almost immediately, Derek's growling becomes rougher, angrier, like he can tell that the hunters are the reason for Stiles' distress. The hunters shift restlessly, their fingers tapping nervously on their trigger guards. 

After a long silence - Stiles supposes they're letting him having "a last moment" with Derek -, Mr. Argent lets out a heavy sigh. "Stiles -"

"No," Stiles says, shaking his head. "He's fine. He's not going to turn."

The hunters look at each other, uneasy. "Stiles," Mr. Argent says again, this time with pity, which just makes Stiles want to pick his wheel lock back up and throw it at him.

"Shut up, okay? Just, shush." Stiles puts his hands on Derek's shoulders to get his attention, pushing lightly so he can sit up again. Derek lets out one more growl at the hunters before relenting. Cautiously, Stiles slides his hands to Derek's neck, slick with sweat and blood, his thumbs pressing against his jaw, and sets his forehead against Derek's. Derek looks at him questioningly, his breaths short and quick. Stiles tries to not to think about all the blood he's lost.

What's happening to Derek, it's like a panic attack, isn't it? Losing control, waiting for someone to tell them that everything's okay again. 

Stiles whispers, so only Derek can hear, "Derek, it's me. Stiles. Remember? I fell for your wolf-y wiles and let you live with me when you parked your ass in front of my door with that ridiculous sign." He huffs out a sardonic laugh as Derek stares back from under his eyelashes, head canted slightly. Some of the hunters appear to be leaning forward, trying to listen, but Mr. Argent gestures for them to stand back. "You know, we have a bunch of puppies at home. You also kinda sleep in my bed. Um, we've -," Stiles tries not to avert his gaze, "- we've been through a lot, together."

Derek blinks, seeming to understand. He briefly looks over at the dead omega, looks back at Stiles. "Pack," he manages to croak.

Stiles smiles shakily, nodding. "Yeah, I'm one of your pack. And I'm okay now, alright? You're safe now too," he says, watching Derek's red eyes flicker. "I can take you home, patch you up. You can see the pups. Just - you just need to shift back. Show them that you've got this under control."

Derek furrows his brows, conflicted, like he's remembering, like he's fighting to remember. Stiles waits, holding his breath, not taking his eyes off of him.

"He's not turning," one of the hunters mutters after a long while, loud enough for even Stiles to hear. Derek's head snaps up to snarl at the hunter and in turn, the guns are back up.

"No no no, Derek," Stiles frantically pulls him back, "look at me. Ignore everyone else, just look at me." Derek faces him, his eyes wide and frightened. His breathing is becoming harsher, his chest heaving with effort, like he's in pain. Stiles holds fast to him, unconsciously stroking his skin with his thumbs, trying not to lose control himself. He thinks of anchors, of the pups, of Derek -

He's not going to lose him. 

"You are going to be fine. I - I'm not going to leave you until you're okay," Stiles promises fiercely. "I _won't_ leave you here alone. Even if we don't have the pups anymore, even -," he swallows, feeling his voice catch in his throat, "even if they turn human again and grow up and leave home, even if you came to me when I didn't have the pups to care for, we're always going to be together. So," he squeezes his eyes shut, "I need you to come back. I need you to be okay."

Slowly, he feels Derek's breath against his cheek, slowly evening out, feels him shifting. He hears the quiet clatter of guns, the sound of a body being dragged away, footsteps gradually fading away. He holds onto Derek for what feels like forever until a soft touch on his shoulder brings him back and he opens his eyes to see bleary hazel eyes staring back at him.

"Stiles," Derek whispers hoarsely.

Oh thank god, Stiles thinks, finally letting go of the breath he was holding and, without thinking, he throws his arms around Derek and buries his face in his neck, holding him tightly. _Don't ever do that to me again_ , he wants to say, but all he manages to do is hold on to Derek silently, his hands twisting in the remains of Derek's tattered shirt to stop from shaking. 

Quietly, Derek wraps his arms tightly around Stiles' back, his stubble rubbing against his neck as he lets out a shuddering breath. He murmurs something into his skin - it sounds like _I almost lost you_ \- and Stiles chokes out a sob because he finally understands now, what they are. And when they eventually pull away, Stiles sees it, the look Jessie was talking about so many months ago. Despite all he's gone through today, Derek looks so utterly relieved, so quietly happy, and he's looking at him like he's the reason.

Stiles wants to kiss him, wants to tell him everything that's been on his mind since that night Derek held his hand. But right now, he's content with just holding Derek, hoping that he can see how happy he is too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the late update /o\ that's what happens when you start a story without knowing how it's going to progress. Poor work on my part, but I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far.  
> A more serious chapter. I wrote it to kinda establish Stiles and Derek's relationship as something that exists beyond the pups.  
> One more chapter, I think, and an epilogue.  
> Thanks for reading! Any comments or constructive criticism is always welcome.


	7. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles decides that they need to talk.

It happens barely even a full day after the hunt. 

After he and Derek had limped back to the Hale House and the Jeep, Stiles called his dad to pick them up. While the sheriff was insistent that at least Stiles be taken to the hospital, Derek was not.

"No," he had nearly growled from the backseat as his wounds were slowly knitting back together, "I need him with me." His hand was still wrapped around Stiles'.

Stiles saw his father look at him in the rear-view mirror and nodded, squeezing Derek's hand in reassurance. "It's fine, Dad. I've got a favor I can call in."

One call to their other neighbor, Ms. McCall, who's, conveniently, a nurse and whose pet bird Stiles looked after a few times, an elaborate made-up story and twelve hours later, here he is, confided to bed rest at home. Stiles sighs, glaring at the sunlight streaming in through the window for waking him up. His dad has a day off today, but after learning about what had happened last night, he's gone off to the Argents to give them what Stiles assumes to be a verbal ass-kicking for what happened last night. 

Derek's still home though, of course. In fact -

"Oh my _god_ , Derek, I can feel you hovering."

Slowly, Derek peeks out from behind the door, only half his face showing. Lydia and Isaac's heads poke out as well. "Can I come in?" Stiles rolls his eyes.

"Are you serious right now," he groans, sending Derek an annoyed look until Derek finally pushes open the door. He looks nearly as good as new, which Stiles doesn't even envy because he's too busy sinking deeper into his bed with relief that Derek doesn't look like death itself anymore. Then, he sees their rarely-used breakfast tray in Derek's hands. The annoyance slides right off his face as Lydia and Isaac hop on the bed to join the others who have been staying vigil at his side. Derek sets the tray on Stiles' lap.

"I made breakfast," Derek mutters awkwardly as Stiles eyes the stack of fluffy pancakes and slices of bacon hungrily. Jackson pokes his nose near it, but knows better than to touch it by now.

"Yeah, I can see that." Stiles then stares at the perky little daisy sitting in a cup by his orange juice, picking it up and twirling it between his fingers. "Was the flower really necessary?" He tucks it behind his ear and grins as Scott chortles beside him.

Derek wrinkles his nose, his ears suspiciously pink. "Lydia wanted it there."

Lydia huffs, shooting Stiles a significant look. "Of course," Stiles says, hiding a smile as Derek pulls his chair over to sit beside him. They exchange some small talk as Stiles eats - "This is really good," Stiles says appreciatively around a mouthful of food, to which Derek replies wryly, 'Bacon fat has never failed me." -, but beyond that, it's mostly silence, with Derek watching him attentively. Stiles doesn't really mind. It's kinda comfortable, actually.

"So," Stiles begins, pausing to take a gulp of orange juice, "how're you feeling?"

Derek lets out a sharp exhale, looking away. "I get anxious if I'm not near you," he grunts. "It's better than last night though. I didn't panic too much when I was making breakfast."

Wow. Well, he was asking more in terms of physical health - okay, mostly to stall the inevitable conversation about his emotional health - but Derek kinda just blew past that. Stiles spears the last piece of pancake and stuffs it in his mouth, chewing slowly. "So when you don't miss me anymore, you'll know you're okay again?" He asks jokingly, the words coming out before he can stop them.

"I'll know I'm okay again when I miss you and, instead of shifting and going on a rampage, I call you like I used to," Derek answers without missing a beat. Stiles stops, mid-chew, looking at Derek. Derek quickly averts his gaze. "Are you done?"

Stiles blinks before realizing that Derek is pointing at the tray. "I - uh, yeah," Derek takes the tray, getting up to take it back down to the kitchen. It feels suspiciously like he's running away. "Wait," he puts his hand on Derek's arm before he can leave. "I think we need to talk."

The expression on Derek's face reminds Stiles of last night, before he left for the hunt. _Say it_ , Stiles shouts at himself, _say it now_ , and he thinks he can, he thinks he has the courage to say it now, _I think I love you, I can't imagine losing you, you are one of the best things to have ever happened to me -_

But the words die in his throat when Derek leans forward, his hand moving toward Stiles' face, his fingers pausing to brush against his cheek, - and Stiles can't help but let his gaze flit to Derek's lips, thinking _this is it_ \- but then his hand moves past to pull the daisy out from behind his ear. Stiles blinks stupidly at Derek, who pulls back, sticks the daisy in the cup before setting it back in Stiles' hands, and briefly smirks. Even the pups look severely let-down.

"Later," Derek says softly, a fond smile on his lips. He turns to leave and Stiles curses his stupid perfectly-sculpted backside.

-

It - the suggestion of talking about _things_ \- doesn't come up again for a while because one, Stiles doesn't really have the energy, and two, Derek is really effective at snuggling Stiles into silence. His dad had apparently long given up on enforcing the "no-sleeping-with-Stiles-unless-in-wolf-form", so Derek pretty much just shamelessly drapes himself over Stiles at bedtime, an action that lulls Stiles to sleep alarmingly fast. Derek says it'll help with his psychological recovery, which is doubtful because Stiles is pretty sure he's not supposed to be embracing his co-dependence, but he secretly hopes that it's actually a thinly-veiled excuse to cop a feel. 

Stiles takes it as a sign. He's not an idiot; he knows there's something between him and Derek going unspoken, but maybe there's a reason. Maybe Derek's not ready, maybe he's still dealing with his issues, maybe he's not actually sure about his feelings, who knows. 

So "later" ends up being hours later, days later, almost a week later, and apparently the world decides that that simply _will not do_.

"Good news," Ms. McCall says as she sits in the living room, inspecting the very faint pink line on Stiles' chest, "looks like you won't have a scar."

"Dammit, I wanted a cool scar to woo someone with." Stiles looks down at Scott, sighing with mock disappointment. "Looks like it's just me and you guys for the rest of my life."

Ms. McCall grins, sorting out her supplies as Stiles tugs his shirt down. "What are you talking about? You already have that Hale boy under your thumb," she nudges Stiles slyly. A flush spreads across his cheeks almost instantaneously. "You and him are, y'know -"

"Not uh -," Stiles laughs a little, rubbing the back of his neck, "not really, actually. Not yet?" He squeaks out when Ms. McCall looks at him like she's ashamed to know him. 

She clicks her tongue before snapping her bag shut, patting Stiles on the shoulder. "While under normal circumstances, I'd advise you to get it together and tell him how you feel, by my observations, he's not going anywhere." Then she adds thoughtfully, "Though it would be nice to clear out all that sexual tension you two have. Is it like that all the time? I feel bad for your father."

Scott barks in agreement. Stiles buries his burning face in his hands. Ms. McCall pets Scott on the head and shrugs unapologetically, clearly enjoying this to the fullest. 

-

Almost immediately after Ms. McCall leaves, Stiles more or less runs out of the house, saying that he's going to the store, because today is apparently a day of bad luck, because Derek was actually home, hiding out in the kitchen while that entire conversation took place.

He ends up actually going to the store and roaming around, eyeballing the ice cream aisle in particular, and, as it happens, it doesn't take long for him to run into a familiar face.

"Jessie," he says with surprise, stopping short at the mouth of the candy aisle. Jessie turns to look at him and smiles at him as he walks over.

"Stiles," she greets, a little weakly. "Glad to see that you've recovered from your uhm, what was it? Tumble down the hill?" 

Stiles quirks a grin, which Jessie shares. "Thanks." Jessie's hunched over a little, like she's in pain, and that's when Stiles notices a box of tampons sitting among the bags of chips in her basket. "Rough couple of days, huh?" Jessie sighs in response, grabbing a few bars of dark chocolate. "My friend is like permanently attached to her hot water bottle when she gets her period."

"Me too," she says, nodding understandingly as she tosses more and more chocolate into her basket. "But that and using magic, man, that's a double whammy that's hard to recover from -"

Stiles nods sympathetically before freezing. _Wait_. "Did you say magic?"

" - and a spell like that? It's been weeks but I still feel like death warmed over," she continues with a strained sigh, "and in addition, let me tell you, Derek's a hell of a runner. Nearly caught me, too, if I didn't have one last trick up my sleeve."

He can't believe this. Jackson was actually right. "You're the witch?"

She turns to strike a half-hearted "ta-da!" pose before doubling over with a groan. "Guess the jig's up," she grimaces, probably because of her cramps and not because she's just revealed her identity. She even seems a little relieved at finally revealing herself. Or maybe the cramps just passed.

Stiles stares at her, unable to really muster up a suitable response. She's so casual about it that he doesn't even have fuel for the outrage he should feel for the stress she indirectly put him through. Instead, he turns away from her, mind turning as Jessie recovers and then basically cleans out the entire section. It's hard to be mad at someone who's looking at chocolate like it's their only salvation.

"Seems like you've had an interesting few days too," Jessie speaks up, moving on to the white chocolates. She shoots him a knowing glance. "Something happened with Derek."

Stiles sighs, running his hand through his hair. "When does anything not happen with me and Derek?"

"That's quite a question to ask," Jessie replies cryptically. Stiles waits for elaboration, but, of course, receives none. "Did you finally see it? What I was talking about before?"

Stiles thinks back to that night, the look on Derek's face. He nods, his heart clenching a little.

Jessie hums, pursing her lips. "There's a reason you don't see it often. And you have to learn that reason if you want everything to work out."

Stiles huffs, vaguely annoyed. "What are you now, a fortune-teller?"

Jessie shrugs. "I dabble in divination sometimes." Stiles can't tell if she's joking, until her lips curve into a mischievous smile. "You should go and fulfill your destiny, lover-boy."

Stiles makes a face at her, turning to leave, but not before asking, "...Did you really like me back then or -"

"Yeah. But don't worry." She grins at him. "I learned pretty quick that there's only one person in the world who can tolerate your unbelievable denseness."

"Ha ha, very funny," Stiles mutters as he stomps away, Jessie's warm laughter trailing behind him.

-

Accepting that he is not going to be able to avoid the subject of Derek today, he goes to the police station to see his dad.

"Did you get anything from the Argents?" is the first thing his dad asks when Stiles walks into his office. 

"Yeah, a gigantic fruit basket," Stiles answers, plopping down in the chair opposite of him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Nothing says 'sorry for the threats and maiming' like an assortment of fruit." His dad lets out an annoyed sigh, probably mentally reminding himself to go back to the Argent's again, before setting down his pen and finally looking at Stiles.

"What are you doing here?" He peers out his window. "Is Derek outside? You know how Officer Ramirez gets when he's around -"

"I'm thinking of telling him," Stiles says bluntly. 

His dad stops to stare at him before holding up a hand. "Wait, are you going to tell him about your uh, y'know," he shifts in his chair, leaning forward. "how you - about your f -," Stiles just nods because it's clear that he's having difficulty saying it. They don't do this very often.

His dad goes through a myriad of emotions. He looks thoughtful for a second before he opens his mouth, only to snap it back shut, setting his chin on his hand, looking rather baffled. Stiles slowly raises his eyebrows at him, finally rolling his eyes and asking, "Alright, lay it on me. What's on your mind?"

"What was stopping you this whole time?" His dad finally asks, bewildered. "Seriously, I remember before you met Derek, you would sing praises about your latest crush from the damn rooftops."

Caught off guard by the question, Stiles makes a few complicated hand gestures before stammering out, "Uh, well, Dad, there are a couple of things, like maybe a little thing that involved Kate Argent -," he's interrupted by the loud snort from his dad, "- really? That doesn't seem like a big deal?"

"Of course it was," his dad retorts. "But son," he looks pained, "Derek has been sending you signals for months. Well," he sits back with a sigh, shrugging, "trying not to, but failing miserably at it. And I'm not even going to talk about the signals he's been sending these past few days. You know what -," he rubs his temples like this is giving him a headache, "I'm just relieved that you're finally going to do something about it, to be honest, because apparently you both are idiots who need everything to be spelled out in front of them with gigantic flashing letters."

That's as close to a blessing as he's going to get. Stiles falls back in his own chair, mirroring his dad's position. He finds himself laughing at how incredible this all is. "You know, I always thought that you'd be the epitome of an overprotective police officer father toward whoever my future partner would be, all stern and disapproving. I didn't think it'd be this easy."

His father sighs, a wry smile on his lips as he shakes his head. "Stiles, if you were on the outside looking in, seeing the way Derek treats you, you'd realize how easy it was to make the decision." Then he adds, much to Stiles' mortification, "By the way, my advice, start looking for an apartment. Preferably across town." 

-

_In case you were wondering, it was a wish fulfillment spell. Half-baked, thanks to Derek. Hope that gives you a little insight on your dilemma._

Stiles shoves his phone in his pocket. _Okay, I get it, world._

He heads back home.

-

Derek's car is still sitting in the driveway, which is a good sign. Stiles parks beside it, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. He spends a few seconds tapping anxiously on his steering wheel before he forces himself out of the car before he can convince himself otherwise. He marches straight up to the front door, his blood pumping like he's ready to run a mile or five, unlocks it and walks right in, stopping short in the foyer.

Boyd is sitting in front of the doorway, stalwart as ever. Stiles sighs, deflating. "Derek isn't home?" Boyd barks low. Sounds like an affirmation. "Where is he?" 

Boyd gets up and moves right past Stiles, out the door. His tail wags and he barks again. Stiles stares, confused. Is he telling him to follow?

Before he can react, there's a flurry of movement as the rest of the pups come running past him and out the door to join Boyd. They mill around restlessly on the driveway and they all start barking urgently at him when he doesn't move. Quickly shutting the front door, he makes his way back to his car. "Alright, I'm going! Shush, you guys, you know the animal control guy has been itching to find a reason to come out here!"

He herds them all into the car and climbs into the front seat, starting the car back up. The pups exchanges looks like they're trying to figure out how they're going to tell him where he's supposed to go, but Stiles saves them the trouble. 

He drives to the Hale House.

-

Derek is standing in front of the house, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. Stiles has never been here in the daytime, so it's quite a sight to see, the house in the sunlight, surrounded by trees, all dense with bright green leaves. Somehow, it makes it look a little less sad. 

Stiles kills the engine a little ways from him and sits in the car for a bit. The pups push at the doors, looking at him, looking at Derek, who hasn't moved. Stiles sighs, scrubbing his face with a hand, before kicking the door open and hopping out, opening the other door to let the pups out. 

Scott runs up to Derek and yaps at him and it sounds an awful lot like he's yelling at him. Lydia has joined him as well. Boyd remains silent at Derek's side, save for the occasional bark he throws in. Jackson lies on the porch, trying to look uninterested. Isaac and Erica puts words - noises, whatever - aside in favor of trying to paw Derek into submission. Stiles can't see Derek's face, but he imagines it to have that same expression he gets whenever the pups whine for something and he knows that he's going to inevitably give it to them.

"Hey, cut it out, guys," Stiles calls, snapping his fingers at the pups. Scott obediently comes over and Stiles ruffles his head, silently thanking him for, well, whatever it was he was trying to do. "Gotta talk to your alpha for a second."

Boyd, surprise wingman, nudges Erica and Isaac away while Lydia leaves on her own accord, giving Stiles a look before turning tail to join Jackson on the porch. Stiles exhales softly, anxiety creeping back as he slowly walks over to Derek. "You thinking of running away again?" Stiles teases.

Derek turns to look at him, his face unreadable, but at least, not hostile. That's always a good thing. Stiles stops beside Derek, casting him a side-long glance. Derek offers a small smile, turning back to the house. "No," he says honestly. 

Stiles fidgets, the leaves rustling under his shoes with his jerky movements. He wishes they could just stand here, listen to the birds chirp, watch the pups chase squirrels. He sighs. "Think it's time we talked," he says, scratching his neck nervously. Derek nods, his focus entirely on Stiles as he tries to sort out his thoughts.

Where does he even begin? How does he even begin? Derek knows everything about him, has stayed despite it. Without even needing to be asked, he's done so much for Stiles in so many ways. They've changed, the both of them, maybe even because of each other, and grown together, it's just -

How does he even begin to describe how he feel about him?

"I tried," Stiles blurts out before Derek can say anything. "I - I mean, I tried to imagine what life would be like without you after you left for the hunt that night. And well, long story short, I couldn't. I mean, I could, like I was capable of it, but I didn't want to. Like the way -," he feels his throat close up, "- like the way you can't imagine losing someone you love, even though you know that the possibility exists." Stiles takes a second to pause, to breathe, before he finally admits, "And so I realized, after I found you, after you -," he can't say it, "- I realized that you've made a space in my life for yourself, that no one else will be able to fill. And I don't want to end up with another empty space. I want you there, for as long as humanly or," he lets out a short sardonic laugh, "werewolf-ly possible."

Stiles can see the gears in Derek's head turning, knowing what he's going to try to do because he knows Derek as much as Derek knows him. Derek's eyes are wide and bright with hope, but he looks at Stiles so sadly, so forlornly, like he's already beyond his reach. "You deserve someone -," Derek begins, and Stiles knows he's going to say _better_ but he is having none of it.

"I don't care about who you think I deserve," Stiles snaps angrily as he turns, surprising even Derek. The pups bark in a show of solidarity, at least, that's what he hopes. "Who are you to say that I'm worthy of someone or someone is worthy enough for me? I don't deserve someone my age, someone who likes the same stuff as me, or any of that bullshit! I deserve someone who loves the pups as much as I do, who isn't afraid to tell me that I'm being a dumbass, who makes me breakfast in the morning just to be an endearing jerk. I deserve someone who -," he sighs, his next words coming out in a murmur, " - who makes me happy." He lifts his eyes to meet Derek's. "And that person happens to be you."

For a minute, Stiles thinks he's going to have to resort to wringing Derek's neck to get his point across, but a faint smile spreads on Derek's lips, like it's finally gotten through to him that Stiles means every word. "You're my one and only, you asshole," Stiles huffs, annoyed by the ridiculous swell of affection he's feeling just by looking at Derek. "I choose you. Now it's up to you, if you choose me too. And let me tell you, I'm a goddamn catch."

Derek looks like he's trying not to laugh. "You are," he agrees as Stiles bridges the distance between them, looping his arms around Derek's neck.

"Damn straight," Stiles affirms fiercely as Derek draws closer, his hands moving to his waist. "Y'know, come to think of it, we did all of this backwards. Slept in the same bed and had a family before even going out on a date." 

"We just defy conventions, I guess," Derek remarks.

"Doesn't matter so long as we get there," Stiles says with a flippant shrug, his smile widening as Derek breathes out a laugh. 

"I love you," Derek finally admits softly just as the pups come bounding over, tails wagging wildly, filling the air with their excited barks. He beams like he's been waiting to say it forever, and Stiles is so happy he can't even speak, choosing instead to close the distance and kiss him.

Finally, they're here, the point where everything's certain now, where everything's out in the open for them to see, where Stiles can begin to learn the shape of Derek's smiles and laughs under his palms, against his lips, where he's free to say what he feels without being afraid that Derek's going to push him away. Tomorrow, he's going to wake up with the pups and Derek like he always does, but unlike the morning before, he's going to wake up knowing that he's allowed to run his hand through Derek's hair and kiss him good morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in two days?! I know, I don't believe it either.  
> Hooo boy, this chapter. If there was ever a chapter that needed a beta, this would be it. This is me trying to justify how Derek and Stiles didn't start doing it in like chapter 4.  
> And yes, Jessie's the witch! She's not an evil witch, of course. She's a little like Sabrina, if you get what I'm saying. I debated whether or not to add a character in or to just not mention it at all, but I felt that would bring up more questions than answers.   
> Ahhhh, the ending. It is my best worst work. All kinds of corny. I seem to be a fan of Stiles making grand speeches about feelings.  
> One more chapter to go C: Thanks so much for sticking around for so long! Please do share your thoughts C:

**Author's Note:**

> Might edit later.
> 
> I didn't put what kind of dogs I thought they were so you guys could imagine for yourselves!
> 
> Anyway, I have a million other things I want to write, so here's to hoping this doesn't end up being a WIP for the rest of eternity.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Constructive criticism is always welcome.


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